Blood and Water
by Tipper
Summary: They say that blood is thicker than water. When Nathan gets an unexpected letter from his sisters, he starts to learn what that means. When the judge gets attacked by a family looking for revenge, it takes on a whole new meaning. All Seven.
1. Chapter 1

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

**DISCLAIMER: **The Magnificent Seven television show is the property of MGM/UA, Trilogy and the Mirisch Corporation. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s), not me. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to the amazing writers, producers, actors, crew and directors who brought it to life.**  
CHARACTERS: **Everyone, but mostly Nathan, Ezra, Chris (my main POVs) and Buck. Also Mary and the Judge. Three OCs, but they're meant for reflection purposes only. Read into that what you will.**  
****STATUS: **Complete in 12 chapters**  
EPISODE REFERENCES****:** "The Trial," "Witness" and a little of "Vendetta" (which is still my favorite ep). In "The Trial," we learned that Nathan had siblings. We don't know how many, but, for some reason, I decided that meant sisters.

**A/N:** I have one big warning. Excluding a little short story I wrote last fall, I have not written any of these characters for many, many years. A lot of this is from memory. Also, it doesn't fit into the chronology of my older stories (the last of which I wrote in 2004, I think). It's just on its own. One more item: this was originally called "Nathan and His Sisters," but it got bigger than that.

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:** Thanks to the inestimable NotTasha for the beta.

**DESCRIPTION: They say family is everything, that blood is thicker than water. When Nathan gets an unexpected letter from his sisters, he starts to learn what that means. But when the judge gets attacked by a family looking for revenge, it takes on a whole new meaning. All Seven.  
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**CHAPTER ONE: THE LETTER**

Nathan stared at the envelope, unable to move, feeling as if the world around him had suddenly come to a stop. Like the others, with the exception of Ezra who heard from his mother fairly regularly, he rarely received mail, so it had been a surprise when Mary handed him the envelope at breakfast addressed to "Mr. Nathan T. Jackson." But now that he'd seen the handwriting, he just held it, frozen, oblivious to the silence his reaction had created at the table where he sat with Buck and Ezra. Oblivious to anything outside of his name on the parchment.

Until Ezra put down his fork, the metal clinking against the plate like a chime.

"Mr. Jackson?" Ezra called the name softly. "Is something amiss?"

Nathan heard the words, but they didn't mean anything yet. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buck glance at the gambler, and Ezra glance back.

"Nate?" Buck shifted in his chair. He then placed his hand on the table, slowly moving it towards Nathan's arm.

That seemed to break the dam, and the world came rushing back in, making sense again. But it still seemed muted. Nathan blinked quickly a few times, and looked up at Buck. Buck pulled his hand back.

"Who's it from?" Buck asked. His voice held nothing but concern, but Nathan just shook his head. He didn't want to answer just yet, if ever.

"Excuse me," he said, sliding his chair back. With a half hearted smile, he nodded a farewell to both men and walked away, pushing through the batwing doors, the envelope still held tightly in both hands.

Once out in the open air, he found himself at a loss as to where to go. He looked up and down the street—in the direction of his clinic, the boarding house where he slept, and, finally, Josiah's church. All refuges in their own way.

After a moment, he headed towards the boarding house.

* * *

Ezra put his fork down, wondering if they should follow. Nathan was, after all, someone with whom he had…well, he supposed you could call it a friendship…and his face had looked stricken by that letter. Somewhat unwittingly, Ezra found himself wanting to find a way to help.

Looking over, he saw Buck's brow had furrowed after Nate's abrupt departure, but, in typical Buck fashion, the blithe man quickly found something else to focus on. Reaching over, he pulled Nathan's still half full meal over to his own and dumped the contents onto his plate.

Ezra shook his head, impressed despite himself. Still, Buck surely had the right idea—after all, Nate had intentionally shut them out, and who was he to deny that wish? If it were him, he'd want to be left alone. And, frankly, Buck had much more experience with sustaining friendships than Ezra, his lead was undoubtedly the correct one to follow.

He ignored the small part of him that screamed a denial of that.

With deliberate (if not forced) nonchalance, he picked his fork up again, digging into the roasted potatoes on his plate.

And yet, he found he couldn't get Nathan's expression out of his mind, the brief look of fear on the man's face when he first looked at his name on the front of that envelope.

Ezra paused with the food halfway to his mouth, and suddenly straightened, his mind sharpening with sudden realization. Buck saw the movement and raised his eyebrows in question.

"What?"

"T?" Ezra said in response, meeting the other's open gaze. "Nathan _T_ Jackson?"

"So?"

Ezra arched an eyebrow in return, surprised it wasn't obvious.

"Need more than that, hoss," Buck stated, frowning in irritation. Ezra smiled crookedly.

"Mr. Wilmington, not to belabor the obvious, but trust me on this: slaves didn't have middle names, except the ones their family gave them and used only by said families. Whoever sent that letter to our Mr. Jackson used his middle name, therefore…."

Buck straightened up as well, and suddenly smiled. "It came from family?"

Ezra nodded, but his face lacked the same mirth.

As quickly as Buck smiled, he frowned, apparently coming to the same conclusion Ezra had. "I thought his family were all dead?"

Ezra just gave a shrug. "We only know that his parents are dead. We know nothing of siblings."

Buck's eyes sparkled at the idea. "Siblings? Nate?"

"I am in the dark as much as you are. But perhaps a visit to the church might be enlightening?"

Buck frowned some more, and looked down at his more than full plate. Looking up again, his hangdog expression was in full force. "Now?"

The corner of Ezra's mouth lifted. "It doesn't need to be both of us, Buck." Shoving his own plate across the table, he stood up, grabbing his hat off the table. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, gambling man." Buck grinned, grabbing the plate and dumping the remainder of Ezra's food on top of Nathan's and, of course, his own. "You'll come back and let me know, yeah?"

"Of course." Tipping his hat, Ezra headed out of the saloon as the other man happily tucked in.

* * *

Nathan continued to finger the envelope as he sat next to the small desk in his room, the sun slanting in through the small window caused the yellow paper to almost glow. Several times, he grabbed a knife to slit it open, but the knife would fall back to the desk unused a moment later. He berated himself for his foolishness—what was he afraid of?

The light knock on the door made him jump, and he hastily put the envelope to one side before moving forward to answer it.

For some reason, he wasn't surprised to see Josiah standing on his doorstep.

At least not until the older man spoke:

"Ezra tells me you may've gotten a letter from one of your sisters, or maybe all of 'em."

Nathan's jaw fell open. "What?"

Josiah's brow furrowed slightly. "Is he wrong?"

"I…," Nathan swallowed, closed his eyes, then opened them again. "No, he's not. Man scares me sometimes. How he knew that from just an envelope, I'll never know." Opening the door wider, he let it go and walked back to the desk where the yellow paper sat. Josiah walked in behind him, shut the door, and walked across to the bed. Sitting down, he waited patiently for Nathan to speak again.

"How did Ezra know I have sisters?" the former slave asked.

"He didn't," Josiah answered. "He only knew that it came from family, and he assumed it must be a sibling or siblings. I'm still the only one who knows that you have sisters." He gave a shrug then. "He also suggested that I drop by."

Nathan shook his head, and quirked a smile. "He's a truly peculiar man."

Josiah said nothing to that, simply continued to watch him. Nathan sighed. Josiah wasn't a fool: he obviously knew that Nathan was only talking about Ezra as a deflection.

Letting out a slow breath, Nathan fingered the envelope sitting on his little desk. "I haven't opened it yet, but, yeah, it's got to be from one of them. I'm still not a hundred percent sure what happened to the three of them after they split us up after my mother….after her death. And I…" He swallowed thickly, shivering a little. "I tried to look for them after the war, just as I tried to find my father, but I…I…." He shook his head, still ashamed of that failure.

"So," Josiah hummed thoughtfully, "how did they find you?"

Nate shrugged. "My father, I suppose. He must have sent them a letter, once he'd found me, telling them where I was. He told me how to reach them as well."

Josiah didn't hide his puzzlement at that. "That was almost a year ago, Nathan. You've known where they were for a year?"

"Yeah."

His hands shook as he picked the envelope up again.

"And you didn't write to them?" Josiah queried softly, his tone tentative.

Nathan shook his head. "Tried. I didn't…I wasn't sure what….and I kept putting it off. I don't know how it's been a year already."

His friend sighed, but gave a nod. "Time is the only thief we can't catch."

Nathan glanced at him, seeing nothing but empathy in those sad blue eyes. Josiah did know. Knew too well.

"Don't let it steal more," Josiah offered quietly.

Nathan released a heavy breath, but he nodded in agreement. Grabbing the letter opener, he slit open the envelope and drew the paper out. He glanced up at Josiah again as he unfolded it.

Josiah cleared his throat, and stood up. "Do you want me to leave?"

Nathan gave a sharp headshake. He hadn't known it before, but he really didn't want to read this letter alone, and when Josiah sat down again, he felt almost relieved. Turning the letter right side up in his hands, he skimmed the first few lines, and then started reading out loud.

"Dear Nathan," he began, his voice shaking slightly. "I hope this finds you well. I am sorry it has taken me so long to write this letter. I admit, I did not know whether you would want to hear from me, or from us, but if I did not try, I know I would regret it. We all would. You are our brother, and though it has been nearly twenty years since we last saw each other, you are still family. And, these days, family has come to mean a great deal to me."

He looked up, meeting Josiah's soft gaze. His friend encouraged him with a nod, and Nathan went back to reading.

"I don't know how much our father told you about what happened to us after we were split up, but we fared about as well as you would expect. Rachel, Esther and I ended up at a small plantation on the eastern edge of Alabama. The family's name was Small, and they were good owners. Their farm was pillaged in the war, and, after, they could not afford to keep us on—they could barely afford to feed themselves. Bereft, the three of us moved around until we finally found permanent work in Tennessee, working as servants in different homes in Nashville. We live there now, in a small house on the edge of town. Our father found us there a few years ago. It was wonderful to see him, to learn that he had survived. He was convinced you had as well and, after staying with us for a time, he left to find you. When he wrote to us last year to tell us that, not only were you alive, you were a lawmen and working as a doctor, we could not believe it to be true. But he sent us the news clippings from the local paper and, sure enough, there you were, the truth of his words in black and white."

Nathan paused, licking his dry lips.

"We had hoped," he continued reading, "that you would write to us. But perhaps, the same reason that has prevented us from writing you is what keeps you from doing the same." Reaching the bottom of the page, he coughed roughly, wishing he had a glass of water to drink, or better yet, a belt of whiskey. Josiah seemed to understand, because he was suddenly there, holding out his flask. Nathan smiling in gratitude, took a long pull, and, with the liquor still burning in his throat, he handed it back.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend."

Drawing in a deep breath, Nathan turned the paper over, to finish reading.

"Unfortunately, I cannot let fear stop my hand anymore. As I write this, Esther is coughing in the next room, and I know that she is too ill to keep working. She is failing, and no doctor in this city will see us without a referral from a white family, and neither I nor Rachel can approach our employers for help. The healers, meantime, simply tell us there is nothing they can do. And so, I am writing to you. We need your help. The healers have told us that the weather where you are is better for conditions like Esther's, and we have thus decided to move west. We are hopeful that we can find work in one of the new cities out there. We would very much like to stop and see you, and perhaps, with your learning, you may be able to cure your sister. Of course, if you do not wish to see us, then we will not stop."

"Our plan is to take the train to Santa Fe, and then to book passage on a coach to Four Corners. If you leave word that you do not wish to see us at the Santa Fe train depot, we will reboard the train north, to Denver. I anticipate that we will be in Sante Fe the week of April 30th. I look forward to hearing from you, but, please, do not feel as if you owe us anything. We will be fine either way, but I would be lying if I did not say that I hope that you will write."

"Your sister, Leah."

He stared at her name for a long moment, before putting the letter down, trying to take it in. His sister. His _sister._ Reading her words, he could hear Leah's voice in his head, her too smart tongue that often got her in trouble as a teenager. _God_, how he had missed her.

Leah was the oldest of the siblings, and six years older than Nathan. She used to take care of them when the old master took mother away, and when father was too beaten to talk to them. She was always the strongest, keeping them from feeling lost and alone as they huddled together in the hut. Thinking of her now, he could almost feel the way she'd wrap her arms around him and rock him, holding him tightly whenever he was scared—which, as a child, was almost all the time. Losing her, hell, losing all of them had broken something in him, something he didn't get back for a long time.

"She writes well," Josiah said softly, interrupting his thoughts. He'd almost forgotten Josiah was even there. "She shares your intelligence."

Nathan couldn't help but smile at that. "Leah was determined to learn how to read," he explained, almost absently. "She was friends with the youngest daughter on our plantation, and the girl taught Leah, even thought it was forbidden. That girl took a big risk, I realize now, but I guess…I guess she thought Leah was worth it. Leah then…she taught the rest of us." His smile deepened, feeling a rush of affection. "If Leah hadn't taught me how to read, I don't think I'd be doing this, now. I don't where I'd be, but I'd definitely not be here. I owe her so much."

Josiah smiled softly. "So…?" he prompted.

"So," Nathan repeated, looking down at the letter in his lap, "I guess my sisters are coming to Four Corners."

* * *

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

The line breaks the site provides have a bad habit of disappearing. Slippery little suckers. Apologies in advance if the scenes aren't properly separated. If it keeps happening, I'll just use really large gaps of space.

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

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**CHAPTER TWO: THE DAMNED GOOD LIE**

Chris was in the process of buckling his gunbelt when the tentative knock came at his door. Frowning slightly, he picked up his gun and called out.

"Yeah?"

"Chris?" Mary's voice was nervous, and Chris frowned slightly. When Mary was nervous, that meant she had probably done something he wasn't going to like.

Sighing slightly, he stuffed the gun in his holster and went to open the door. Mary stood on the other side, dressed in a prim cream dress, her neck covered almost all the way up to her chin, like armor. Yep—she'd done something he wasn't going to like.

"Something I can do for you, Mary?"

She swallowed, and then thrust her hand out, in which was gripped a letter. "I received this yesterday from a reporter friend of mine in Santa Fe. It says…." She paused, waiting as he took the letter and opened it. "It says that someone has been threatening my…the judge's life. He's received several death threats over the last couple of months, warning him not to ride the circuit he started last week."

Chris frowned, skimming the letter, his thoughts darkening at the idea of anyone threatening someone he respected as much as Judge Travis. Still….

"It's probably nothing but words, Mary," he said, handing her the note back. "I'm betting the judge gets death threats pretty often. He's put a lot of bad men away, and hanged a bunch more. Bound to have earned him a number of enemies."

She shook her head. "It's not. I know his position is dangerous, but this is different."

His head tipped. "Why?"

"Because, when he was in Flat Rock last week, the first town on the circuit, someone actually did try to kill him, took a shot at him when he stepped outside the town hall after listening to opening arguments in a murder trial."

Chris straightened, worry thrumming through him. "He okay?"

"He is. But Marshal Barnes is dead. He took a bullet for Orrin, jumped in front of him as soon as the shots were fired and…." She stopped, biting her lip, her worry plain. "The sheriff of Flat Rock wrote to tell me. Orrin hasn't, of course. As soon as I found out, I wrote to my friend in Santa Fe, to see if he might have heard anything about why it happened. That's what he sent me in return."

Chris looked down, reading the letter she'd handed him a little more carefully. Apparently, the judge had been receiving the same threat every Friday in the mail for the last two months, written on plain brown paper, telling him that he'd done enough damage in his work, and if he went out one more time on the circuit, it would be his last.

"Think it's a relative of someone being tried on the circuit?" Chris asked.

"Maybe. I don't know. I've sent out a bunch of letters to all the towns he's visiting, to see what I can find out. It could just as easily be someone from his past." She shrugged. "All I know is…." She drew in a strangled breath. "All I know is, Orrin's still doing the circuit, and, right now, he's out there without protection. Sheriff of Flat Rock said he'd send a deputy to watch him for part of the trip to Eagle Bend, and Santa Fe has promised to send another marshal to join him along the route, but it'll be a while before he reaches him. And you know I don't trust the Sheriff of Eagle Bend after what happened with Nathan's father last year…."

Chris sighed, thinking he knew where this was going. "So, what, you want one of us to go out to join him as well?"

She gave a head-shake. "He wouldn't accept the extra protection, not at the expense of Four Corners. He'd send you back here."

"Then, what?"

She bit her lip again. "I, um…." She blushed slightly. "I wrote Orrin. I told him that he needed to come here. That there was an emergency in town, that you and I needed to see him immediately."

He nearly choked. "You did what?"

"I also said that you and Vin would go to fetch him before he reached Eagle Bend, because you need to bring him here fast."

"Mary! Why?"

"So that you could, perhaps, convince him to lie low here for a few days while I try to figure out who is trying to kill him."

He narrowed his gaze. "You want me to convince the judge to hide?"

"Yes."

"You have met him, right?"

She tilted her head, crossing her arms defiantly. "You'll just have to make him see the sense in it."

He snorted. "And if, miraculously, I succeed, and you do figure out who is trying to kill him, then what?"

"Then you and the boys could go find the man, and stop him."

"What if the judge won't stay? And what if you can't figure out who is after him?"

Her gaze shifted to the side, and then down, her arms falling by her sides. She obviously had no answer for that. Finally, she looked up at him, all clear blue eyes. "I just…will you at least try, please?" She blinked, and took another step forward. "Please?" she repeated.

Damn. Like trying to say no to a wet puppy shivering outside in the rain.

He sighed miserably. "What lie did you use to get him here?"

"I couldn't think of one. I just said it was an emergency. I thought, perhaps…you could ask Ezra to come up with something to tell him when you go to meet him? That's something of a specialty of his, lying to my father-in-law."

Chris smirked. "Yeah. But the judge also threw him in jail for it."

"Well, now he gets a second chance to get away with it," she offered weakly. "He might like the challenge." She tried for a lighthearted smile.

It didn't work. The more he thought of what she had done, the more he hated it.

"You're a pain in my side, you know that?" he snarled.

She just smiled more, this time more genuinely. "Thank you, Chris."

He grunted, and then waved her back so he could leave his room. She backed up a bit, waiting for him on the landing as he turned and locked his room behind him.

"He's going to see right through this, you know that, right?" he said, turning to look at her.

"But by the time he does," she answered, "it'll be too late for him to do anything about it. I need him to be safe, Chris." Her gaze narrowed meaningfully. "We all do."

He frowned, but couldn't deny the statement. She gave him a nod of farewell and turned to head towards the stairs. He watched her leave, and then looked over at a door at the end of the hall. With a sigh, he walked over and knocked.

"Buck?" he called. "Get your ass up. Mary needs our help."

* * *

Listening to Mary explain the story for the second time to Ezra, the bad feeling in Chris' gut grew. Protecting the judge was one thing. Lying to him was another, and sitting across the table from the gambler, who was sitting in his typical throne like seat in the saloon, looking down at them all, only made it worse.

He was definitely going to regret this. It felt oddly like he was making a deal with the devil.

"You came to me because, and let me make sure I get this straight…" Ezra leaned forward, the book he was reading placed squarely on the table in front of him, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "You need a good _lie_?"

"In essence," Mary replied, hands clasped together tightly on top of the table, "yes."

"And you couldn't come up with one yourself?"

"Not a good one."

Ezra huffed, and then turned his attention to Chris. "And you couldn't either."

Chris just answered by crossing his arms, not deigning that with an answer. Not too surprisingly, Ezra rolled his eyes and looked to Buck.

"I try not to lie to judges," Buck said, grinning as he leaned back in his seat, one leg propped up on the empty seat next to him. "You, on the other hand, take to it like a duck to water."

Ezra tilted his head at him, clearly not amused.

"He's got a point, Ezra," Vin noted lightly, leaning on a post next to the table and cleaning the grit out from under his nails. "It's kind of in your skill-set."

Chris sighed. Why did they have to bait him? It only made him worse. As if bearing out his thoughts, Ezra responded by pressing a hand to his chest and feigning indignation.

"I'll have you know that I have changed my wicked ways, especially when it comes to the honorable Judge Travis! I could never—"

"Ezra," Mary interrupted, trying to regain control, "please, we've all tried to come up with something plausible and failed. We need your help."

He stared at her a moment, and sighed. "Fine."

She smiled gratefully. Ezra sighed again, and glanced at Chris. When a tiny smirk touched Ezra's lips, Chris groaned inwardly—damned gambler was going to _enjoy_ this! He should have known. Too late to stop him, Ezra was already waving a hand in his direction.

"You need something to get the judge here fast? Just tell him Chris is dead."

"Hey!" Chris's startled shout overwhelmed Mary's gasp and Buck's bark of laughter.

"What?" Ezra asked, all fake innocence and guile. "It'd get him here like a shot. Chris is his favorite, reformed hard case."

"Hey!" Chris said again, though there was an uncertainty to it this time; he couldn't tell if he'd just been complimented or not. Buck was laughing harder, the bastard, and Vin was grinning.

"Even if that were true," Mary said, looking a little pink, "I can't tell him that!"

"Why not?" Ezra asked.

"Because I already told him that Chris and Vin would be the ones to fetch him here."

"Ah," Ezra said. Chris snarled at the man when Ezra looked at him again.

"Could be one of the rest of us is dead," Buck suggested.

"Wouldn't work," Ezra said, shaking his head dismissively. "Only Chris would get him here. Or Mary, of course, but she wrote the letter. I take it Billy is with his grandmother?"

Chris groaned out loud this time as Mary's eyes popped.

"Billy?" she squawked, instantly furious. "You're not killing my little boy!"

"Why wouldn't one of the rest of us get him here?" Buck asked, completely ignoring her drama. "He's likes us."

"I'm not killing anyone," Ezra said to Mary, then, to Buck: "And I didn't say he didn't like us. But learning of the death of someone you employ versus someone you think of as a friend will engender different responses."

"Ah," Buck said, nodding in understanding. "Point."

"He thinks of all of you as friends," Mary contested, still trying to futilely regain control. "And you're still not telling anyone that Billy is anything but exactly what he is: healthy, happy and full of life." She crossed her arms.

Ezra just gave her a crooked smile. "Indubitably, Mrs. Travis."

"Besides," she added, "he is away at school, staying with his grandparents, yes."

"Maybe someone else could be dead?" Buck threw out. "He have any other friends here?"

Right. That was enough. "We're not killing anyone, Buck," Chris stated with finality, placing his hand flat on the table. "Ezra…." He gave the joker an arch look. "Think of something else."

Ezra gave a shrug, and then smiled wickedly. Before Chris could stop him, the gambler tapped his chin and announced with complete sincerity:

"A wedding might get him here."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "A wedding?"

"Ezra…." Chris warned.

"Certainly, a wedding," Ezra continued, ignoring the glare Chris was directing at him with complete aplomb. "Especially if you told him you were marrying someone like Chris. Again, it'd probably get him here faster than….than…." He snapped his fingers and then pointed at Buck.

"Faster n' a wildfire through a dry brush."

"Hunh," Ezra blinked. "That was fairly clean."

"There are ladies present, Ez."

"I am not telling him anything of the kind," Mary stated, her arms crossing even more tightly. "And why would that be an emergency?"

"Because he'd want to stop it?" Ezra suggested.

"I thought I was his friend," Chris said, unable to help himself.

"Not that good of a friend," Ezra replied, answering the tiny smile Chris wore with one of his own.

"Oh, stop it!" Mary snapped.

Buck grinned. "Then again, he could need to come to officiate over a shotgu-ow!" Rubbing hard at the shoulder that Vin had just pinched, he glared up at the other man. "What the hell was that for?"

"Reckon you don't want to go there, Bucklin. Mary'll kill you."

Buck frowned, still rubbing at his arm. Mary's arms were crossed so tightly, glaring at them all, she looked about ready to break.

"Stop it, please," she cajoled desperately, focusing on Ezra. "Please. I need you to be serious." Tears glistened at the edge of her eyes, and Ezra's smile fell. Chris sighed again.

"Alright, Ezra, that's enough playing," he stated. "She's right. Before Mary's head explodes, best give us something we can use."

Curiously, Ezra squirmed a little. "You know, it's not entirely fair, placing this burden on me," he said. "Can I at least obtain your words that you will not tell the judge who came up with this artifice?"

Chris curled his hand into a fist, watching as Ezra shrank away from them a little. Damn. He was serious. And, once again, Chris knew that he was really, definitely, and without a doubt, going to regret agreeing to Mary's idea.

But he'd made her a promise.

"Chris?" Mary prompted quietly. Her arms were by her sides again.

"Fine," he said to Ezra finally. "Provided it's a damned good lie."

Ezra studied him briefly, seriously, and then shrugged lightly, eyes dropping to the table. "It's not hard. All you have to do is turn the truth around. Tell the judge that someone has made an attempt on _Mary's_ life, and that it appears to be in connection to the current threats being made against the judge. And, if that's not enough to get him running…." He gave another shrug. "Tell him Mary received a threat stating that if the judge doesn't come here immediately, not only will she die, but attacks will be made on other members of the judge's family."

They all stared at him for a moment, until Buck slowly whistled. "You're scary sometimes, Ez."

"Damn," Vin agreed. "That's good."

"Shit," Chris growled. He looked at Mary, catching her eye briefly before she looked away, her face reddening. She knew what he was thinking: the judge was going to be mad as _hell_ when they told him the truth.

"You know," Vin muttered, "he's going to hate us when we tell him the truth."

Chris screwed up his lips at the eerie echo of his thoughts.

"As long as he doesn't hate me," Ezra said blithely, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. Chris couldn't blame him. He tried not to regret giving his word.

"When do you head out?" Mary asked Chris then.

"Now's as good a time as any," he answered, glancing at Vin. "Expect us back with the judge on Friday evening."

"Three days," Mary said, giving a nod. "I should have some idea of who is doing this by the time you get back. I already have a lot of information from my friend in Santa Fe to sort through, in addition to what I've received from the sheriff of Flat Rock."

"We're gonna miss greeting Nathan's sisters," Vin said then, frowning slightly. "They come in day after tomorrow."

"He'll understand," Chris replied, not unhappy about the idea. He really wasn't much one for that kind of thing.

"Yeah," Vin mused. "I know. But it's sort of nice, watching family reunions."

"We'll save you some cake," Buck promised, grinning up at the man. Vin smirked, and knocked Buck's hat off his head.

"Right," Chris said, standing up. "Daylight's burning."

"Good luck," Mary offered, standing as well. "And thank you. I'll owe you for this."

"Damn right," Chris replied, grabbing his hat from the table. He gave her a half smile. "Might take you up on that when this is all over."

She blushed again, but, as he walked away with Vin on his heels, he knew she was also trying hard not to smile.

* * *

TBC….


	3. Chapter 3

**BLOOD AND WATER  
BY TIPPER**

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**CHAPTER THREE: THE SISTERS**

For Ezra, it was almost predictable—after all, nothing in their lives ever seemed to work exactly right anymore.

Nathan had been waiting for this day for two solid weeks, getting more and more jittery with each passing moment, to the point where he'd been snapping at JD (the easiest target), avoiding Josiah (who knew him too well), and just plain ignoring the rest of them. And now that the moment had finally come, Ezra watched with almost morbid amusement as Nathan—wearing his absolutely best suit, cleaned and pressed without a stitch out of place, and smelling like lavender—stared down at the sweat soaked, filth covered, ten year old Reynolds boy with horror.

"You're kidding," Nathan gasped, staring at Jack with wide eyes. "Now?"

"Yes! Now! Pa's bleeding bad, Doc! You have to come now! If he dies…." Tears welled up in the boy's pale brown eyes, threatening to course down the already tear-stained face. "Please!"

Nathan looked sick as he looked helplessly up at the others. "I…I have to go. Can…can you…?"

"It would be our pleasure," Josiah soothed. "We'll meet your sisters and see them settled. I promise, they will be well cared for."

Nathan just nodded dumbly, and suddenly fixed his gaze on Buck. "And you….don't even think about doing what you do!"

Buck grasped his hands to his chest. "Me? What would I--?"

"You know! So, don't!"

Buck just blinked, and looked at Ezra for an explanation. Ezra just smiled.

"We'll keep an eye on him, Doc," JD promised, patting Buck's shoulder. "Now go, before Jack here starts screaming."

Nathan nodded jerkily, and took a step away from the hotel boardwalk, ready to turn to run towards the clinic with the boy. The last person he looked at was Ezra, who had felt stuck for words since Buck had pulled him out here, to help meet Nathan's sisters on today's stage. He hadn't actually wanted to come, as was fairly obvious by how he'd been literally dragged to the hotel. Looking at Ezra now, Nathan opened his mouth as if to say something, but…in the end, he just shook his head and turned to run as fast as he could to help Jack's father, who had fallen out of his livery loft and, apparently, done quite a lot of damage to himself.

Ezra watched him go, wishing he didn't know, intrinsically, what Nathan was going to say.

_Don't look at them the way you once looked at me._

It was a warning he intended to heed. He owed Nathan that much.

It was also why he had been trying to avoid being here at all. Buck had had to cajole him, guilt him into waiting for the sisters with Nathan and the others. Not that he didn't want to support his friend. He did. But he wasn't sure the sisters would want to meet _him_. He didn't like being judged based on his accent or his background, but most of the time he could ward his ego with the confidence that the one passing judgment didn't know him. But if he were judged poorly by these women, if they thought he might look down on them as he most assuredly would have done not that long ago, he would deserve it.

"You're going to wear that cuff if you keep fingering it like that, son," Josiah whispered kindly, nudging Ezra with his arm.

Ezra hadn't even noticed that he'd been worrying the cuff, and he dropped his hands to his sides.

"Here it comes," JD announced gaily, almost bouncing in excitement. Ezra sighed. He felt Josiah rest a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly shrugged it off, moving a couple steps away so the other man couldn't do that again. Didn't Josiah get that it wasn't him that needed comforting? He was the _problem_, not the women arriving. He knew he didn't look at people the same way he did two years ago, but you couldn't just shake off thirty two years of one way of thinking—that you were right and they were wrong. He could feel that person still inside, still making its opinions known, even after meeting Nathan, falling in love with Li, finding a partner in Inez, and spending as much time with the Seminole children as he could.

What if he screwed this up for Nathan, because he couldn't keep that person from talking?

He backed up further into the porch's shadow as the coach pulled up in front of the hotel, dust kicking up in its wake. It was full, that much was clear from the way the horses were lathered and the amount of luggage on the top, but the coach's occupants were too shadowed to discern in the bright sunlight.

The driver hopped off the seat, nodding at the gathered men before unlocking the door and lowering the steps. Backing up again, he called up to his luggage men to start dropping cases.

Buck moved forward first, reaching out a hand to help the first woman off the stage. Virginia Elliot smiled back, still as lovely as ever, her curls swirling her kind face perfectly. Despite her father's incarceration, Virginia's mother still lived near town while Virginia was away at college, and she often came to visit.

"Hello, Buck," she breathed.

"Virginia," he crooned. "I thought you'd stay back east until summer."

"Mother needs some help dealing with some things of father's," she said, letting him draw her to the side. "I was hoping I'd see you again," she added, blushing. "I—"

"Hold that thought, darlin'," Buck said, stopping her with a bright smile. "I'm supposed to be meeting some folks. Can I find you later?"

She blinked, and followed him with an irritated gaze as he turned away from her to face the coach. She stomped off with a huff.

Ezra almost laughed at the affair, but he was a little too nervous. A couple men stepped off the coach next, and then…

There was no mistaking who she was. The woman was tall and broad shouldered, with a proud expression and dark brown eyes that were _exactly_ like her brother's, right down to the sharp way they studied each of the five men waiting for the stage. Unlike her brother, however, she was also obviously attractive, wearing a dark red travelling dress and a simple red hat that set off her coloring perfectly. It wasn't any identifiable beauty that drew your eye to her, though--it was something else. Something to do with the fact that she stared them all down, as if she could see right through them. It didn't take long for Ezra to recognize what it was, he'd seen his mother carry it her whole life.

Confidence.

"Miss Jackson?" Josiah asked, stepping forward.

The woman's gaze landed on the preacher, and narrowed slightly. "Yes?"

"Nathan was called away on an emergency at the last minute. One of the townsfolk took a bad fall from a ladder. He asked that we greet you and your sisters. I'm Josiah Sanchez."

She studied him a moment longer, and then took his hand. "Rachel," she replied. "Rachel Jackson." She didn't look comfortable with his attention, but she allowed him to help her off the stage. Once on firm ground, she immediately let go of his hand and turned back to the doors.

A second woman emerged, this one shorter, but older, and with a downcast gaze that prevented Ezra from seeing her face clearly at first. Instead of a dress, she wore a simple cream blouse with a green shawl, and a dark brown skirt. When Josiah held out his hand, she flinched slightly, and then blushed prettily as she understood. "Thank you, sir," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "You are very kind." She was thinner than her sister, and a little plainer, but the smile was bright, more than making up for it. Taking Josiah's hand with only a slight tremor, she let him help her down, and then, as Rachel had down, she quickly let go, but not without bowing to him slightly. She continued to smile as she took in the others, and then walked across to where the luggage was being lined up and picked up a dark brown valise. JD was next to her in a minute, offering his help.

"Can I--?" He pointed to the valise.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, ducking her head slightly, smiling even more. "But no. It was kind of you to offer, but I have it." As she spoke, she also reached for a smaller red bag lying next to it. When it became obvious that she couldn't heft it without JD moving, she backed up a little and let it be.

JD, oblivious, reached for it himself and smiled at her. "I got it." She gave an uncomfortable nod, but she turned back to the coach. Another man had emerged in that time, looking a little peeved, and he all but stalked away. The woman next to JD sighed slightly.

"Rachel," she said, a hint of tension in her voice now, "help Esther."

"Yes, Leah," Rachel replied, already moving back to the door.

"I can help myself, thank you," a rough, but sweet voice replied from inside, the words punctuated by a short cough. The tone spoke of stubbornness, and Ezra found himself thinking of Casey. Indeed, when the young woman peeked her head out into the sunlight, he was even more caught by the resemblance. Not in age, obviously. This young woman was several years older—perhaps early twenties—but her expression bore all the markings of someone who has resented been treated as a child her entire life, probably because she was the youngest. Rachel and Leah were both, if Ezra was any judge, older than Nathan, but this girl could only have been a toddler when her mother died.

As if aware of the scrutiny, she smiled at him beguilingly. Ezra smiled back, somewhat unwittingly, unable to ignore such a charming face.

She was definitely the most lovely of the three, the Bianca to the older sisters' Kates, but she was also the most obviously frail. Gaunt would describe her best, from the deep hollows in her cheeks to the narrowness of her waist that had nothing to do with the corset she wore. She wore a yellow dress, which flattered her very well, and she even had a yellow flower in her hair, but you would have to be blind not to see that she wasn't well. Even so, there was no question in Ezra's mind that Esther had done her level best to be at her prettiest upon arriving.

"Miss Jackson," Buck all but purred, reaching a hand up to her. "Please, let me help you down."

Esther looked away from Ezra, her gaze landing on the tall cowboy. "Ah," she said, smiling more and taking his hand. "You must be Buck Wilmington. Aren't you sweet, Sugar."

"Esther," Rachel warned, stepping forward as if to take her sister's hand back.

Buck, meanwhile, didn't hide his surprise at being called by name. "You know me?"

"Of course," Esther replied, coming to a rest on the ground and smoothing done her dress. She looked around at the gathered men, and nodded. "We know all of you." She looked again at Buck. "You are the notorious ladies' man. You," she looked up at JD, still hovering next to Leah, "are the doe-eyed kid. You," she switched to Ezra, "are the gold-hearted gambler. And you're the tarnished preacher." She smiled again at Buck. "Did I get that right?"

Buck snorted a laugh, clearly impressed.

"She's read the dime novel," Ezra said in understanding, tilting his head a little. Joss Stone had placed their likenesses on the front, and they weren't terrible.

"I have," she agreed, eying him with a more calculated stare. "As have my sisters, Mr. Standish. We found a copy in Santa Fe. The newsagent recommended it once he heard we were coming here."

"It was entertaining," Rachel said then, smiling a little too knowingly and without warmth. "A romanticized representation of what I imagine was an unpleasant journey for Mr. Larabee." Her gaze searched the men. "Who is not here."

"No," Josiah said, "he's not. He and Vin Tanner are on an errand. Both will be back tomorrow evening. They are both anxious to meet you, of course."

Rachel nodded, her tone cool as she said, "Of course."

"Can you please point us to Nathan's quarters?" Leah asked then.

"Quarters?" JD repeated. "Well, if by quarters, you mean his room, then that's in the boarding house up yonder. But he's not there. He'll probably be at the clinic later, though."

"Clinic," Esther said, a hint of wonder in her voice. "And where is that?"

"Above the livery," JD answered, pointed towards it. "You can just make out the sign."

"Thank you," Leah said. "We will wait for him there."

"Uh, actually…." JD took a step towards her, and Leah automatically took a step back. Still oblivious, JD grinned and pointed at the open doors behind him. "You're booked here at the hotel. This is Mr. Chambers," he nodded towards the manager standing in the open doors, who bowed a little when Leah looked at him, and her eyes widened slightly. "He'll take you up to your suite. If you have any other bags, we can carry them for you."

Leah blinked a little, drawing her valise a little closer. "Suite? I'm afraid there's been a mistake, sir. We didn't book a hotel room."

"Your brother paid for it, up to a full a week," Chambers explained, stepping forward. "And it's my honor to treat any family of our esteemed Mr. Jackson."

Leah ducked her head. "Oh dear. That's very kind of you, but—"

"We don't take charity," Rachel finished, her voice dark. "Thank you all the same. We will pay for our own rooms."

"Charity?" Chambers repeated, looking a little confused as he looked at Rachel. "But—"

"Please accept my apologies, sir," Leah pleaded quickly, smiling again. "My sister can be overly blunt. But," she blushed and ducked her head contritely, "perhaps if you would kindly tell us how much the rooms are, we could pay for them ourselves. If not, then perhaps you can point us towards another place in town where we could rent a room?"

Chambers just stared at her. "I…but they are already paid for, I…" He looked around for help, which, of course, meant Ezra.

No rest for the "gold-hearted gambler," Ezra thought ruefully.

"The suite here is five dollars a night," he supplied. "Down the street, Virginia's hotel has rooms for three, but they're not as pleasant. I also believe you can rent a room above the saloon for a dollar, but I think you'll find the suite more comfortable for the three of you. There may also be space in the boarding house, but I would not recommend it as a place to stay for ladies such as yourself."

Leah regarded him as he spoke, still smiling, though her expression darkened a little at the term "ladies." Nonetheless, when he was done, she inclined her head in gratitude.

"Thank you, Mr. Standish, for your kindness. I believe the saloon will be most acceptable, if the owner will accept us."

"She will," Ezra promised.

Leah smiled at that, and lifted her eyebrows at her sister. "Rachel, go see if we can obtain suitable lodging above the saloon. I will take Esther to Nathan's clinic."

At Rachel's nod, Leah then turned once more to Chambers. "I regret that we could not partake of your hospitality, sir, but we very much appreciate that you were willing to provide it. Perhaps, if we are luckier with our finances in our future travels, you would allow us to stay with you again?"

"I, um," Chambers frowned slightly, "Of course, Miss Jackson. Any friend…family…of Nathan will always be welcome here."

She gave a pleased hum, smiled anew, and reached out a hand for the red bag still in JD's hand.

"I thank you also for holding that for me, sir. I do not wish to trouble you further."

"It's no trouble," JD said. "I want to—"

"Give her the bag, JD," Josiah said then, his voice level.

JD frowned at the older man, but, reluctantly, did as he was told. Leah's tension lessened a little when she had the bag in hand again.

"Thank you all again for the welcome. I will let my brother know that we are grateful. Come, Esther," she ordered. Turning, she began walking away, carrying both bags. Esther caught up with her after a few steps, and linked her arm with her older sister's. Rachel grabbed the last valise sitting on the boardwalk, a black leather one that looked as if it had seen better days. She drew it close and looked at Ezra.

"Could you direct me to the saloon, Mr. Standish?"

Ezra smiled, bowing slightly. "It would be my pleasure, Miss Jackson."

"Mind that's it's not," she answered tightly. "Which way? Is it that one?" She looked at Digger Dan's.

Ezra smile grew more forced. "Good god, no. I can show you the way, if you like." He took a step towards her, and she took a step back.

"I would rather you didn't," she rebuffed. "If you could just point me in the right direction, that would be sufficient."

His gaze narrowed, but, still smiling, he pointed towards Inez's saloon. "There."

"Thank you." And without another word, she walked away, her head still held high.

He felt more than saw Buck step down to join him on the dirt road, and guessed that Josiah and JD were still standing on the boardwalk, watching the sisters leave them alone. Chambers had probably gone back inside.

"Well," Buck muttered, "that went well."

Ezra snorted. "That's usually my line," he said.

"Why did you tell her how much the rooms cost, Ezra?" JD demanded. "You could've lied. Told them the hotel was less than five! Chambers wouldn't have said anything."

"They would have known," Ezra replied, twisting his lips sourly. "Or they would have found out. I don't think they would have appreciated the deception."

"Still…"

"He's right, son," Josiah added. "It would have been a bad idea."

In response, the kid just sighed. "Well fine. But…is Nathan going to be mad at us?" He wrapped his arms around himself. "I mean, we kinda botched the whole welcoming thing."

"I think Brother Nathan is going to have a lot more than that to worry him," Josiah replied darkly. "Those sisters have three very different personalities, but they have one thing in common…."

"They really don't like us," Buck finished.

Ezra just sighed. This was going to be a long week.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Nathan rode back into town, his head bowed and his best suit ruined. Hell of a thing. Jack had been right to fetch him—his father had been bleeding out, and right quick. It was a miracle he'd held on long enough for Nathan to get to him.

Couple hours later, Joseph Reynolds seemed to be resting peacefully, the color back in his cheeks, and Jack and his mother were bringing him into town for a few days to stay with a friend, so Nathan could be nearby if anything changed.

With a sigh, he stopped in front of the livery, tossed the reins to Yosemite, and slid off the horse, nearly collapsing against the mare's side.

"Joe Reynolds going to be okay?" Yosemite asked.

Nathan gave a tired nod. "Should be. Jack and his mother are about an hour behind me, bringing him in their wagon." He looked up, smiling lightly. "Any chance you could rustle up some people to help them get him up to the clinic?"

"Sure, but, uh…" Yosemite looked up at the balcony above his head, where the clinic's front door was. "You might want to see to your guests first."

"My…?" Nathan's eyes widened. "They're upstairs? In the clinic? Not at the hotel?"

"Didn't want to be there, so I was told," Yosemite replied, shrugging slightly. "Anyways, all three are up there."

Nathan stared at him a moment longer, and then stepped back to look up at the balcony.

He stopped dead at the sight of Leah looking back at him.

"I thought I heard your voice," she called down, leaning against his balcony rail. For a moment, she just seemed to drink him in, and then, slowly, she began to smile. "Hello, little brother."

A hundred emotions ran through him, like being doused by a bucket of water, but, in the end, only one emotion remained: pure, unmitigated _joy_ at seeing his favorite sister again!

"Leah!" He took the stairs two at a time, and she met him at the top, laughing as he pulled her into a tight hug and swung her around. "Leah! Oh my God, I've missed you so much!"

She laughed, hugging him just as tightly. "Sweet Nate! I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Can we join in?" A voice called from nearby.

Nate stopped swinging Leah, dropping her gently down as he looked over his shoulder. Rachel and a young woman who could only be Esther (Lord, how she's grown!) watched them from the clinic door.

Rachel took a couple steps forward, and Nate had his arms around her as well, holding her close.

"Where have you _been_?" Rachel croaked into his ear, sounding both annoyed, amused and relieved at the same time. "We thought we'd lost you until we got Dad's letter."

"I know, I know," he replied, his voice cracking, digging his head into her neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know how to find you."

Esther cleared her throat then, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Nate lifted his head from Rachel's shoulder. The youngest of them all smiled nervously.

"I'm Esther," she offered. "I…know I was only four when you were taken away from us, but—"

He didn't give her a chance to finish, drawing her into another hug so tight that she grunted.

"I know who you are," he promised, his voice breaking slightly. "You look just like Mom."

She drew in a sharp breath at that, and hugged him even more tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you. I—" And, suddenly, she was coughing, forcing him to let go as it felt like her whole body convulsed in his arm. She coughed harder as he stepped back from her, studying her face and hearing the liquid in her hacking. There was no sign of any blood on her lips, however, which was a good sign.

"We should get her inside," Leah said then, stepping up close to Nathan's side. "It's getting cold out here."

"Of course," he said, taking Esther gently by the arm. Rachel led the way, and Leah brought up the rear as they headed into the clinic. Candles were lit around the room, and the strong smell of burning sage filled the space. Nathan frowned a little at the overwhelming scent, but couldn't deny that it was one kind of remedy. He did, however, have something better.

"Sit her on the bed," he ordered, heading over to his medicine cabinet. "Any blood in that cough?"

"Not yet," Esther said, sounding miserable, as if she'd already condemned herself. Nathan frowned.

Moving a few bottles around, he stopped when he found the expectorant on the shelf. A mixture of guaiacol resin, willow bark and some herbs he'd obtained from the Seminoles to sweeten the taste, it was usually the best thing he could find for breaking up whatever usually ailed people's lungs.

Pouring a small dosage onto a spoon, he turned and offered it to Esther.

"This is actually going to make you cough harder for a little while," he warned, "but after, you should feel better, your lungs clearer."

She studied him, uncertain, rubbing a hand across her chest. "Are you sure?" she asked hoarsely. "All the healers gave me medicines they said would suppress the cough, not the other way around."

"I'm sure," he promised. "I know a little more than your average healer."

"So we've been told," Leah said, not hiding the pride her in voice. "They call you 'Doc' around town, I've noticed."

"But you're not," Rachel stated coolly. "Are you?"

He glanced up at her, forgetting how very honest the girl…no, woman…had always been. Rachel was a truth-sayer, so the other's used to say back on the plantation. It was just her way. It had earned her more than her fair share of switch marks.

"No," he conceded, "I am not. But I've been taught by a few of them, along with others. And I've read as much as I can. And, believe me…." He offered Esther the spoon again, looking into his little sister's eyes. "I would not be offering her this if I didn't think it would help."

Esther's gaze was examining, her fear plain.

"Take the medicine, Essie," Leah ordered. Rachel just crossed her arms.

Reluctantly, Esther took the spoon, grimaced a little at the smell, and then swallowed the dosage in one gulp.

"Blech!" she spat, sticking her tongue out. "That's horrible!"

"Yeah," Nathan admitted, shrugging and smiling ruefully. "Sorry. Most of my medicines are pretty horrible. Should see what I force down the guys' throats when they get head pains. Stuff comes from the bark of a tree, and tastes like it."

"And where does this come from?" Esther asked.

"Actually," Nathan said, smiling more, "another tree. All the way back in Jamaica."

"Jamaica," Esther repeated, looking down at the now empty spoon. She rubbed unconsciously at her chest.

"It'll take effect soon. You'll cough hard and ugly. I'll get you some water. But I promise," he touched her arm, "it will pass and you _will_ feel better."

"Will it cure me?" Esther asked then, still rubbing at her sternum.

Nathan's smile fell, and he shook his head. "No. It's just a temporary fix. I'll need you to tell me a lot more about how much you've been coughing and for how long, so I can figure out what's wrong with you."

She gave a nod.

"You think you can help her?" Leah asked then. Nathan gave her his most even stare.

"I'm going to do everything I can," he promised.

Leah smiled.

* * *

TBC….

Quick A/N on Virginia -- She is canon, famed for the impact of Buck's animal magnetism on her. :) In my head, I somehow decided that Frank Elliot, the baddie from "Witness" and Virginia's father, was not hanged for killing Stephen/Frank Travis, but instead imprisoned for life at Yuma.


	4. Chapter 4

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

**

* * *

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**CHAPTER FOUR: THE BREAKFAST**

The following morning, Nathan found himself awkwardly meeting his sisters for breakfast in the hotel across from the saloon. Esther had spent the night at the clinic, so Nathan could help her through the terrible coughing his medicine had engendered and also to answer some additional questions about her sickness. It hadn't left much time for talking about their father, for explaining about not writing, or for anything else. Rachel and Leah had kept them company for a while, before claiming exhaustion and disappearing.

To the saloon.

He'd have loved to blame Ezra for that, but, somehow, he had a feeling it was entirely his big sisters' idea. For all that they had aged, they were both still the same. Leah was still as hard as ever, and Rachel as rude.

After they left, and Esther had fallen asleep, his night had been filled of memories and dreams and memories of dreams. Thoughts swirled through his mind, of regretted decisions and unforgotten terrors and, above all, the one night he had spent twenty years trying to forget. He remembered his mother as she touched them all one last time in the middle of the night, watching her as she bent to kiss them all on their foreheads, thinking her children were all asleep. But Nathan had been awake. He'd watched her leave. He hadn't known she was going to kill herself, but he had known…had known she wasn't coming back.

And he knew his father hadn't been sleeping either.

He'd hated his father for so long because of that.

And he'd wondered if Leah and Rachel had been awake as well. Maybe they had all been awake, and they had all let her go.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He played with the napkin on the table, rubbing the clean cotton between his fingers.

He hadn't written to them, even though he'd known where they were. He'd been afraid to.

Someone cleared their throat, and Nathan looked up.

Josiah stood a few feet away, looking too knowing as always.

"Morning," Nathan said.

Josiah inclined his head. "How are you?"

"Fine, you?"

Josiah gave a shrug. "I am as I always am." He glanced at the three empty plates sharing Nathan's table. "Meeting them for breakfast?"

"Yes."

"Need any company?"

Nathan couldn't repress a smile. "I'd love it. More than you imagine. Although…" He smiled, thinking of Josiah's own difficult relationship with his sister. "Maybe you can. But…." He shook his head. "We still haven't really…." He shrugged. "Talked."

"Of course," Josiah said. Then he rubbed at his neck. "I'm supposed to be meeting JD. You prefer we eat over at Inez's?"

"No. Of course not. I…" He grimaced, thinking about JD's boundless exuberance and curiosity. Not exactly conducive, as Ezra would say, to a quiet repast. "Actually," he said, "if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all." And with another incline of his head, Josiah turned, just as the three sisters walked into the hotel. They stopped upon seeing the preacher, and all three stepped back a little.

"Ladies," Josiah said, putting his hat on and tipping it. "Lovely to see you. I do hope you're enjoying your stay."

Esther cracked an amused smile, Rachel was stone-faced, and Leah smiled prettily.

"Yes, sir," Leah replied. "Very much so. You have a wonderful town."

"We try," Josiah answered. He turned, tipped his hat to Nathan, and then, giving the women a wide enough berth so they wouldn't feel uncomfortable, he headed out of the room. They watched him leave, and then, a little more tentatively, they approached Nathan's table to sit.

"It's okay if we eat here?" Leah asked quietly, looking around at the pretty room.

Nathan smiled. "Yeah, it's okay." He looked to another table set by the window, where Carl and Sarah Weathers were eating. "There, see?"

Leah and Esther turned, and the Weathers waved. Nathan waved back.

"This town is different," Rachel muttered, frowning a little. "In Santa Fe, we had to sit in the back of the train station depot to eat, and I was told that it was a progressive city."

"This town is different in a lot of ways," Nathan said, shrugging slightly.

"I can see why you would choose it," Rachel said.

Nathan grunted. "It wasn't like this when I came. I got lucky. I had skills the town needed, but it wasn't about to protect me when someone didn't like the job I did. Nearly got lynched just six months after I arrived." He looked down at the table. "Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner saved my life."

"Why?" Leah asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did they save you?"

Nathan had to pause, because, to be honest, he had never really thought about it before. But he knew the answer.

"Because they're honorable men."

Rachel grunted, still looking around the room as if it would bite her.

Nathan frowned some more, wondering when Bessie would come out to take their order.

The silence stretched out for a long, awkward moment, and Nathan started looking towards the kitchens, wondering if she was deliberately taking longer to give them time to talk. If she peeked out of the kitchen, he would—

The explosion rocked the room, throwing the handful of people by the windows out of their chairs. The women screamed, the men not far behind, trying to cover them with their bodies.

"Get down!" Nathan shouted, already out of his chair and gesturing at his sisters. "Under the table!"

"What's happening?" Leah demanded, terrified. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he snapped, pulling his gun. "Stay here!" He scrambled to his feet, aiming for the front doors.

"Nathan!" Leah called. "Where are you--?"

"Stay there!" he shouted, reaching the door and, gun first, pointing it out into the street.

His eyes widened at the site of the Clarion a couple doors down, or, rather, where the front of the Clarion used to be. Black, ink-stained smoke bellowed out of the front of the shop through the shattered window. The door was off its hinges, lying in pieces on the street.

"Mary!" Buck shouted, running across the street to the ruined news office. Josiah and JD were already fanning out, looking for anyone who might have caused this. Nathan joined them, catching Ezra's eye where the gambler was leaning half his body out of his window over the saloon opposite, his rifle seeking something to shoot, covering the men on the ground. Nathan gave him a quick salute, and Ezra nodded back.

Trusting Ezra to watch his back, Nathan ran down the boardwalk to the office after Buck, who had already gone inside.

"Nathan!" Buck shouted from inside the darkness, the call punctuated by sharp coughs. "Nathan, I need help here!"

Sucking in a lungful of clean air, Nathan jumped over the ruined doorframe and plunged into the smoke-filled room. Blinking through the black, he saw the bowed, tan colored back of his friend. Buck looked up, eyes shining in the darkness.

"Mary," Buck coughed, backing away so Nathan could see the unconscious woman on the floor. She was lying down, curled in the space under her desk, which had been shoved to the back of the office; it was a miracle she wasn't more badly hurt. The large, solid desk had done a lot to protect her. Buck had obviously pulled it away from the wall to give them room to work.

Nathan knelt down, feeling quickly down her neck and spine, and then down her arms for breaks. Other than being unconscious, there was nothing else obviously wrong with her.

"Help me get her out of here," Nathan said quickly, and instantly regretted speaking. Smoke caught in his throat and lungs, preventing him from drawing in more oxygen. Coughing harshly, he moved around so he could cradle her upper body in his arms. Buck took her legs, and they lifted her up, carrying her out of the office into the street.

JD and Josiah stood guard, watching the street for anyone who might take pot shots to finish what they had started. A moment later, Ezra was with them, wearing nothing but a nightshirt and his pants, suspenders loose.

"She alright?" Ezra asked, eyes wide with concern.

"I don't know," Nathan replied. He looked at Buck. "Let's get her over to the hotel." It had the closest place to set her down somewhere warm, and where he could look at her more carefully.

"No one else seems to be hurt," JD noted, still looking around like a sentinel. "But I also can't see who might have done this."

"Josiah, you go with Buck, Nathan, and Mary," Ezra said then. "JD and I will stay here. Try to figure out what happened."

"Will do," Josiah replied, already backing up to follow Nathan and Buck as they carried their burden up the street to the hotel. Nathan didn't really care at that point who was watching them. He could feel Mary struggling, her breathing shallow. They needed to get her on the ground.

Mr. Chambers ushered them inside as soon as they reached the hotel's doors, and, despite Nathan's orders to stay put, Leah was carrying a bucket of water into the parlor. Chambers pointed them inside after her, and Nathan and Buck rested Mary on the closest settee.

"What can we do?" Leah asked, standing by, watching as Nathan propped Mary up so as to help her breathe.

"Uh," Nathan replied, frowning. "I don't know yet. Just stay inside until Ez and JD can figure out what happened. Where are Rachel and Esther?"

"Still in the restaurant, under the table."

"Good. At least they listened to me." He said it sharply, a rebuke for her disobedience.

Leah chose to ignore his tone, and looked down at Mary. "She's the newspaper owner, yes?"

"Yes," Nathan replied. "A good woman."

Mary was breathing a little more easily now, less pained-sounding and wheezing. Nathan dribbled some water into her mouth, and, using a cloth that Leah handed him, wiped some of the soot off of her face.

"Mary?" he called. He gently ran a hand over her head, looking for bumps. He frowned when he found one near the back. "Mary, can you hear me?"

She moaned softly, and gamely tried to open her eyes.

"Mary," Nathan tried again. "Mary, wake up."

Slowly, eyelashes fluttering, blue eyes peered out from under heavy eyelids.

"Na--?" she croaked, and immediately started coughing. A puff of black soot erupted from the first cough, from whatever she'd breathed in, but the rest came out clean.

"Nath…can't….breathe…." She started coughing harder, hyperventilating.

"Shhh," he hushed, pressing a soothing hand to her convulsing back. "You need to calm down. Feel my hand on your back, focus on that spot, and imagine breathing through it. Slowly, but not too deeply. You're breathing too fast, and trying to draw in too much air. You don't need that much oxygen."

"Na--?"

"And don't try to talk."

"No, some….dynamite…window…."

"Someone threw dynamite through your window?"

She nodded, still coughing, but breathing more slowly now. "Didn't…don't…."

"You didn't see him and you don't know who did it?" Nathan translated.

She gave him the most grateful look, and nodded.

"Don't worry, Ms. Travis," Buck said, standing guard over them with Josiah. "We'll find the guy who did this."

She tried smiling, but it was soon covered up by more harsh coughing.

Nathan stood up, indicating Buck and Josiah draw close. "I think she's going to be alright. She's gota a bad bump on her head, and the smoke won't do anything good to her lungs, but she was real lucky. She had time to find cover behind that desk before the dynamite went off. It could have been a lot worse."

"Who do you think threw it?" Buck asked.

"Honestly?" Nathan replied, "I—"

He was interrupted by the distinct sound of a rifle blast. His eyes widened, and he looked at the two men with him. Gunfire erupted in the rifle's wake, and Josiah held up a hand when Buck made to leave.

"We have to protect Mary," Josiah stated.

"She doesn't need both of us," Buck said then. "JD's out there.

"And Ezra," Josiah noted, a touch sharply. "That was his rifle going off. But we can't leave her. She's clearly still their main target. If they come in here after her…."

"I can help," Carl Weathers announced from the doorway, his gun in hand. "Go ahead, Buck. I've got their backs."

Buck gave him a quick smile, and arched an eyebrow at Josiah. The older man gave a shrug, and Buck took off, heading towards the gunfire. Nathan watched him go, frowning in worry.

A moment later, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to find Leah watching him.

"What can we do?" she asked softly, repeating her question from earlier.

He opened his mouth to say nothing, but then changed his mind.

"Could you take Rachel and Esther, round up the others in the restaurant, and make sure they're all away from the windows?" he asked. "The more cover you can find, the better."

She stared up at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Of course. Come and tell us when it's safe again to come out."

There was something arch in her tone, but Nathan didn't know how to respond to it as she quickly exited the parlor.

Feeling a little like he, and his town, had just failed some all important test, he turned his attention back to Mary.

* * *

Ezra breathed heavily, hefting his rifle and trying to take comfort in the feeling of his colt stuffed in the back of his trousers as bullets pelted the wall he was hiding behind. He hadn't had time to put on either of his holsters, had just thrown on the pants, stuffed his colt in his pants, and come running.

Whose bright idea was it to attack the town at this ungodly hour in the morning?

Well, he knew the answer to that. Either dark and swarthy number one, or dark and swarthy number two, the latter of whom was now lying dead in an alley. Score one for the good guys, so to speak.

He didn't recognize either man, and it had been pure chance that he'd seen them riding by the back of the alley between the Clarion and the hotel. They'd been trying to be quiet, letting their horses pick the slow pace. He had just happened to catch the first one go past out of the corner of his eye, and when the second one appeared, he'd yelled at him to stop.

The second man reined in sharply, and, without any warning or explanation, had raised his gun, forcing Ezra to fire. The guman had been thrown off his horse by the shot, the horse rearing at the noise.

Next thing he knew, JD was pushing him out of the way as the same man—who, somehow, had not died despite getting shot in what Ezra was pretty sure was his chest (his aim hadn't been i_that/i_ bad, had it?), started firing at them both with a six-shooter. Chunks of brick, wood and mortar showered them as JD got them both around a corner and out of range.

The rest was a blur of noise and shadow. JD had disappeared, yelling something about going after the first man, while Ezra tried again at killing the man shooting at him from the alley. As soon as he heard the gunman's pistol click on empty, Ezra was around the corner, determined not to miss this time.

Swarthy Number Two went down, bullet to the heart, and didn't move as Ezra jogged the rest of the way down the alley towards him.

Staring down at the bloody mess that was left of the man's chest, Ezra looked for anything distinguishing. Nothing, though he was impressed to see that the bullet he'd fired first had clearly been deflected by a very dented, thick metal clasp on his chest. Part of his bullet was still lodged inside. Hunh. That explained that.

Moving to the very end of the alley, he pressed his back against the wall next to the corner and started adding bullets to the rifle, listening to the shots being fired between JD and Swarthy Number One. Apparently, said man hadn't been planning on leaving despite being astride a horse and obviously having plenty of time to, as Vin would say, skedaddle. Odd behavior.

"Pssst!"

He looked up, head turned towards the front of the alley. Buck waved back.

"You alright?" Buck called.

Ezra gave a nod. "JD needs a hand."

"Gotcha. That one dead?"

"He is now."

"Good. I can see JD around the corner, near the seamstress's place. Looks like he's got someone pinned down in the alley near the stable. There more than two?"

"Not that I know of."

"Okay. You take the back from this direction, I'll try to get around to the other side. Sound like a plan?"

Ezra nodded, and Buck disappeared.

"Buck, wait!"

Buck poked his head around the corner again. "What?"

Ezra grimaced. "Something…just wanted to warn you. Something's off about this."

"Meaning?"

"They could have gotten away. Easily. They were on horses; they could've just taken off."

Buck stared at him a moment, eyes narrowing as he obviously took the import of that in. Finally, he nodded and disappeared once more.

Releasing a slow breath, Ezra checked the colt was still where it was supposed to be, and peeked around the corner.

The backs of the buildings looked clear, and the rolling, red hills looked empty of threats. Livestock for the hotels roved nervously around their pens, the chickens squawking like crazy in their coops. But nothing indicated there was anyone nearby—it was just the noise that was rattling them.

Ducking out, he stayed as low as he could, moving around the back of the Ritz Hotel that his mother once owned, now owned by an English financier who had yet to actually visit the town. The current manager hadn't been all the pleasant to the Seven yet, so they'd been keeping their distance. Ezra caught the eye of the hotel's cook as he peeked out the back door, giving him a nod and indicating that he shut the door. The cook did so.

Rounding the corner, Ezra caught sight of the shoulder of Swarthy Number One. He was shooting down the alley, most likely, at JD.

Shouldering the rifle, he stepped out and pointed it at the man's back.

"Drop it," he ordered. "And get down on the ground."

Swarthy stopped firing, his shoulders tensing up.

"And if I don't?" he asked huskily.

"Then I kill you where you stand. Unlike my illustrious leader, I don't really have a problem shooting people in the back. Figure I stay alive longer that way."

Swarthy snorted, and straightening up, he started to turn around.

"Uh, uh, uh," Ezra cautioned. "Not so fast. Gun first."

The other man paused, and then tossed the gun.

"Good man." Ezra moved closer, and raised his voice. "JD! I've got him." As he called out, Swarthy turned all the way around, peering out at Ezra from behind a soot smudged face, nearly yellow eyes sparkling madly in the morning sunlight.

"That rifle chambered?" Swarthy asked, holding his arms out loosely by his sides.

"Yep," Ezra replied. Something about the way the man was holding himself was sending off warning bells in his head.

"Don't look it."

"Care to find out? Happy to oblige."

"Looks like you didn't fully chamber it."

"I'm not falling for it, so you had best get down on the ground."

His only warning was a tiny smile, and then the man's right wrist flexed. The move was too familiar to be anything but what Ezra knew it to be. He fired, sending the man stumbling backwards, gasping at the hole in his right shoulder. The derringer in Swarthy's hand fell loosely to the ground.

But rather than giving up there, as he should, Swarthy reached for the little gun with his left hand.

"Don't!" Ezra ordered.

Swarthy laughed, picking the derringer up and pointing it at Ezra's head. "Should have chambered it again already!" he mocked at the same time Ezra realized he had made a stupid, stupid mistake.

The shot caused Ezra to jerk, but it was louder than a derringer, and nothing hit him except blood splatter.

Swarthy's eyes opened wide with surprise, blood pooling in his mouth to run down his chin, his pupils rolling up into his head as he fell forward to the ground in a boneless heap.

Buck strolled up from the other direction, his gun smoking. JD appeared at almost the same time, gun still pointed at the man's back, just in case.

Ezra released a sigh. "My thanks, gentlemen," he breathed.

"He was right, Ez," Buck said then. "Should've chambered the rifle immediately. Kinda dumb."

Ezra just glared at him.

"Any idea who they were?" JD asked, kicking the now dead man.

"No," Ezra replied, "but, based on their faces, I would give good odds they're related." He tilted his head. "I also give good odds that, when we find their horses, we'll find dynamite in the saddlebags."

"Not taking that bet," Buck replied, frowning. "Deck's too stacked."

Ezra gave a half-smile. JD, meanwhile, was on his knees, checking the man's pockets. He stopped when he pulled out a piece of paper, unfolding it in order to read what it said.

"Damn."

Buck shifted to look over the kid's shoulder. "What?"

"It's a letter from someone who signed it 'R.A.", with an order to kill Mary and leave behind the note."

"What note?"

"Undoubtedly the one we found tacked to the side of the Clarion," Ezra replied. He patted his right trouser pocket, and then drew out the note he and JD had found earlier, before they'd spotted the gunmen. He then handed it over to Buck, since he already knew what it said. Buck took it, read it, and whistled again.

"Guess your lie wasn't as much a lie as you thought, eh, Ezra? This is almost word for word, with the exception of the demand that the judge come here."

Ezra just frowned. "I suggest we send a new telegram to Sante Fe," he said, "warning the marshals office to place extra security around the Travis' house. Evie and Billy have probably been targeted as well."

JD paled. "What about the rest of the judge's family? He got anyone else that should be warned?"

"I don't know. We'll have to ask Mary," Buck replied.

"Is she alright?" Ezra asked then, embarrassed that he hadn't asked before.

"Yeah, for now," Buck answered, handing the note back. "And we're going to make sure she stays that way."

Ezra just nodded, pocketing the paper and wondering just how much worse this was going to get.

* * *

Nathan handed Mary a glass of water, frowning at the fact that she was standing outside in the cold. He had argued with her, trying to get her to stay inside the safety of the hotel, but she had been adamant about wanting to see the devastation for herself.

The others had done a fairly thorough search of the town, looking for any additional men who might have been a part of the attack, so he felt pretty confident that she was going to be alright out here. Still….

Reaching over, he adjusted the blanket on her shoulders, and she shot him a sad smile before returning her attention to watching Ezra and JD pick through the rubble of the Clarion.

"They destroyed my press," she whispered unhappily. "That cost a lot of money."

"I am fairly certain you are worth a lot more," Josiah said, guarding her on the other side.

She didn't respond, just took another sip of water.

"I've got them," Buck announced, striding down the boardwalk from the direction of the sheriff's office. He held what were obviously wanted posters in his hands. "Ez was right. They were brothers."

Hearing his name, Ezra stepped out of the Clarion office, brushing soot off his red jacket. He took the posters from Buck, frowning slightly at the names. He then handed them to Mary.

"Are they familiar?"

She looked at the first poster, then at the one below it. Nathan read over her shoulder, seeing the names "Jeremiah Jones" and "John Jones" written across the top. The likenesses did seem to match the two men now at the undertakers, being measured for pine boxes.

Mary sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. It also confirms a suspicion I've had since receiving the information from my friend in Santa Fe."

"Which is?"

"That this isn't about stopping my father-in-law from hanging someone on his current circuit. It's about revenge."

"How do you know?"

"Because these two men are the brothers of a man the judge hanged three years ago. Jebediah Jones. They're his family."

"Long time to wait to get back at the judge," Josiah mused.

Nathan smiled softly, thinking of what his father had done. "There's no time limit for family, Josiah, remember?"

"And there's something else," Mary continued, handing the posters back to Buck. "I don't think they were acting alone."

"What?" Buck said.

"You mean, there are other members of this Jones family out there?" JD asked, standing in the doorway of the Clarion.

"No," Buck said, shaking his head. "There's no more Jones listed that look like these two." He frowned at Mary. "I'm pretty sure of that."

"You're not wrong," Mary agreed. "There were only two Jones brothers. But think about this." She drew the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. "Flat Rock is five days from here, flat out. At the fastest pace, could these two men have shot at the judge, and then arrived here today, not quite four days later, in enough time to throw a stick of dynamite through my window?"

Buck frowned. "Well, I guess--"

"And let's not forget the letter we found," Ezra said. "It came from someone unrelated, based on the initialed signature. Not a 'J' in sight."

"What were the initials again?" Mary asked.

"R.A.," JD supplied.

"Could be Rett Ayers," she said. "In fact, I'm sure it is."

"Who is Rett Ayers?" Ezra asked.

"Son of a man named Robert, whom the judge hanged last year. Rett has three other siblings, two brothers and one sister. All four vowed revenge against my father—it was reported in the papers of the town that convicted Robert Ayers." She shivered. "Looks like they've started to enact that revenge."

"By going after you and the rest of the judge's family, as well as the judge," Buck noted darkly. "And using the like-minded Jones brothers to help out."

"Probably not just the Jones," Mary added, her tone miserable. "I was only about halfway done, but I already had eight other families listed that promised revenge against my father-in-law. The Ayers and the Jones brothers were two of those eight. Any of the others could be in on this plot as well, and there could be more as, like I said…."

"You were only have about halfway through your research," Ezra finished. Mary just nodded.

"Earlier this morning," she continued, "I sent out queries to see if I could locate any of the families, when I first had the idea that it might be revenge based, but I haven't heard back from anyone yet. Still, I think if they came after me, we can assume at least one of those families is going to be going after Evie and…" She swallowed, her voice cracking. "…and my son."

"We sent a telegram to Santa Fe as soon as we guessed they were in danger, Mrs. Travis," JD assured. "I received word from the Marshals just a little while back that they were already guarding the other Mrs. Travis and Billy. They'll keep them safe."

Mary emitted a shaky sigh, and sniffed. "We should send word to all the towns on the circuit to keep a look out for the other families, just in case. Any one of them could be planning to try to kill the judge again at his next stop. If we can't narrow down the names—"

"No, hang on," Ezra said, crossing his arms. "Something's not right."

Mary frowned, as did the others. "What do you mean?" she asked, a touch annoyed. "It all fits."

"Except that, if the Ayers really wanted the judge to suffer, they wouldn't have tried to kill him before killing you. They would have wanted him to die i_after/i_ he has seen his family all die because of him."

"Wait, what are you saying?" JD asked. "That the judge wasn't the target in Flat Rock?"

Ezra nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"But, if that's true, then Marshal Barnes was the target," Mary protested. "But Barnes was no relation to my father-in-law. They barely knew each other. Why would they want to kill the marshal?"

"To get the judge alone."

"Why?"

"Mary," Ezra pressed, "you said that you, the judge's wife, and Billy are the judge's only surviving relatives, is that right?"

"Yes," she said. "Stephen you know about. His other son, Frank, was killed in the war. Frank was never married."

"But there is someone else the judge cares about," Ezra continued. "We talked about it just the other morning."

Mary's eyes widened. "You don't mean—"

"They killed Barnes because they knew you would send Chris to protect the judge." Ezra looked over at Buck, who had crumpled up the posters in his hands. "If I'm right, Chris and Vin are riding straight into an ambush."

* * *

TBC….

I blew up Mary's press. She's going to be so pissed off at me.


	5. Chapter 5

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: THE AMBUSH**

The creak of saddle-leather lifted Chris's head from where he'd been keeping it down, catching Vin out of the corner of his eyes as he slid up alongside. Peso butted heads with Solon, the latter bearing its teeth in response.

They were riding together down a tree-lined road, bunches of juniper, sage and small firs flanking them on both sides. On one side, the ground rose up a small hill, the trees breaking up to reveal a mostly yellow rock mesa. On the other, the ground fell away into a muddy gully, a small, nearly white stream snaking its way along the too-wide river bed. The road itself was non-descript, cut deeply into the side of this hill and rutted from too many wagons and coaches traveling down it when wet.

"Hey," Vin greeted quietly.

"Hey."

"You see 'em?"

"Yep."

"I got three."

"Same."

Vin spat the straw he'd been sucking on out of his mouth, and glanced up at the sun still rising overhead.

"Been on us since we hit the road," he noted.

"Yep."

"It seem like they knew we were coming?"

"Yep."

"What do you want to do?"

Chris didn't answer immediately. They'd hit Eagle Bend late last night, staying the night there, and were now riding slowly south on the road towards Flat Rock. The judge's coach should be rolling towards them any time now, and they planned to divert it towards Four Corners.

"There's a group of large boulders up ahead," Chris said. "Road snakes right between 'em."

"Be a good place for an ambush," Vin agreed. "They try for us now, they'll be too exposed. Up there, they can shoot us down without our even seeing them."

"Yup."

"Also explains why I saw two of 'em lope past us in the gully, thinking they were being quiet. Reckon the other one is still behind us."

Chris gave a nod.

"What say," Vin suggested, "I go high, you go low?"

Chris pursed his lips. "Nah," he replied. "I'm thinking, you go high, and I stay right here."

Vin glanced at him, his expression a touch incredulous. "What, so they have something to aim at?"

"Exactly."

"They're going to have rifles, you know."

"Yup."

Vin snorted. "You're betting a lot on them having bad aim from that distance."

"No," Chris said, looking at his partner. "I'm betting on you making sure their friend behind us doesn't shoot me in the back."

Vin smirked. "Do what I can, pard. No promises." And with that, he turned his horse around ninety degrees and kicked Peso to gallop into the woods and up the shallow rise, quickly disappearing from sight inside the thick brush.

Chris listened until he couldn't hear Vin's horse anymore, and then jumped off Solon's back. Pulling his gun from the holster, he patted Solon's rump to send the horse over into the trees on the side of the road, out of harm's way.

Then he just stood and waited. He reckoned it wouldn't be a long wait.

These three men had been trailing them since the town, trying to hide, but doing it poorly. Not entirely their fault—there wasn't a lot of ground cover in Eagle Bend, not until you got up into the hills here. Until now, the landscape had consisted mostly of a scraggly trees, brush, and the occasional river gully, but, mostly, the terrain was open. To tail someone out here, you had to be good. And these men were not.

He waited, listening to every sound in the vicinity. His eyes were on the boulders up ahead, where, sure enough, he'd spotted two heads when they'd peeked out from their hiding places to see what was taking him and Vin so long to reach the boulders. Now, likely, they were trying to figure out what to do seeing as, instead of two men riding towards them, it was just Chris….standing in the middle of the road.

Staring at them.

If they were smart, they'd guess that Vin was trying to get around them.

Of course, they'd be wrong, since Vin had gone after the guy in the rear.

But it would make the men behind the boulders nervous, thinking someone was about to shoot at them from above. Really nervous. And when you were nervous….

You made mistakes.

One of the men peeked out too far, and Chris took a shot. Like a broken dam, both men started firing their rifles blindly in his direction, trying to stay hidden while laying down a hail of bullets at the same time. They weren't going to hit the broad side of a barn.

As soon as they started firing, Chris dove off the side of the road into the trees, slid into the gully, and ran along the riverbed. In moments, he was below their position, climbing silently up to where he could clearly see one of the two ambushers.

They were talking to each other now, hushed, scared whispers that made Chris smile as he listened.

"Where'd he go?"

"What?"

"He ain't there anymore!"

"No way! We had to have hit him. You sure?"

"Can't see him. Damn it! What the hell? It's like he's a ghost!"

"He ain't a ghost, Danny. He's got to be behind a tree, or something."

"Behind a tree? Which tree?"

"Hell if I know! Look, just keep watching. And watch that hill behind you. That other one's got to be around here somewhere."

"Why don't you watch behind you! Maybe he rode up the gully."

"I'd have heard him!"

"With all that gunfire?"

"I…oh…shit."

"Ben?" Danny called. "What's the matter?"

Danny's question wasn't going to be answered, Chris thought amusedly, smiling coldly down at "Ben." The ambusher glared back, every muscle in the man's body screaming for him to attack, but, ultimately, he wasn't that stupid. Chris had his peacemaker pointed directly between his eyes from about two feet away.

"Damn, you ain't natural," Ben growled.

Chris just smiled more, and indicated Ben drop the rifle and turn around on his knees. Ben did so begrudgingly, lifting his hands up as he did so. As soon as he was all the way around, Chris pistol whipped him, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

"Ben?" Danny called again, a lot more terrified than he had been a minute before. "You there?"

Using the man's belt, Chris had Ben's hands bound behind his back and left him sleeping off the hit to his head. Taking up the rifle, he tossed it down into the gully, and then made sure there weren't any other weapons on the man.

Finding none, Chris crouched down behind the boulder and waited for Danny's curiosity to get the better of him.

"Ben?"

He was getting closer. Chris stood up, slid along the back on the boulder, until he was right next to the edge.

"Ben? I'm coming to check on ya. If you're funnin', I'm going to be seriously pissed."

Danny poked his head, along with his rifle, around the corner of the rock. Chris pressed the peacemaker against the side of his head, right against his temple.

"Aww," Danny sighed, slumping in defeat. "Hell."

"Drop it."

Danny dropped his rifle, and raised his hands, moving the rest of the way into Chris's line of sight on this side of the boulder. His expression darkened upon seeing his friend lying on the ground.

"He's not dead," Chris said.

Danny sighed, and shrugged. "Yeah. Guessed that from the fact that you tied him up. No need to tie up a dead man, right?"

Chris had to smile. "Got a point there, Danny."

The younger man glanced at him, and then sighed again. "Now what?"

"Now, we—"

"Hey, Larabee! You in there?"

Chris frowned, actually surprised to hear that voice. "Staines?"

"At your service, Larabee," Eagle Bend's notorious sheriff replied. "Got your third ambusher here."

"He's telling the truth, Chris," Vin called. "You get them other two?"

Chris's eyebrows lifted, and he nudged Danny out of the protection boulders in front of him. Sure enough, standing in the middle of the road was Vin, a trussed older man with a scowl on his face in his hands, Sheriff Staines, and about five other men. They all grinned toothily at Chris, and one of them walked forward to take Danny in hand, cuffing him behind his back with a pair of black iron cuffs.

"There's another one knocked out behind the boulder," Chris said, indicating the direction with his head. "Care to grab him as well?"

The sheriff nodded at two more of his men, and they trotted past Chris to get Ben.

Chris leaned his hip against the boulder, crossing his arms and not hiding the distrust on his face. "What are you doing here, Staines?"

"Aw," the sheriff replied, touching his chest. "I'm hurt."

"I'm not joking, Staines. You know I trust you about as far as I can throw you."

The sheriff's eyes narrowed slightly, but he shrugged. "Well, I suppose I can't blame you for that, after what happened last year with them niggers. Pretty much don't trust you either." He gave a cool smile, which Chris returned much in the way two dogs bear their teeth at each other when they're about to fight. Then Staines snorted and shook his head, his eyes trailing his men as they dragged the still unconscious Ben out from behind the rocks.

"Look, think what you want, Larabee," Staines said, "but I'm still an officer of the law, duly elected. That means I don't take with people trying to kill my federal circuit judge, or anyone else in my township." He lifted his head. "Sheriff of Flat Rock wrote me about what happened, that someone took a shot at the judge in his town and Marshal Barnes was killed. Then I see you two come into town last night, and then head out this morning towards Flat Rock—doesn't take a genius to guess that Mary Travis sent you to protect her father-in-law. It also didn't take a genius to guess that the three strangers that followed you out of town were probably aiming to make sure you failed at your job. So," he gave a shrug, "I rounded some boys and we came out here to lend you a hand." He smiled then, this time a little more honestly. "Guess you didn't need our help much, though."

Chris watched him a moment longer, and then gave a small smile. "Guess we didn't."

Staines smiled wryly. "So, what now?"

"Now, wait for the judge, find out who these men are and…" Chris frowned, thinking about timing. "Actually, there's something you can do." He tilted his head. "You mind holding these men in your jail for a while?"

Staines gave a shrug. "Sure. They can join the two horse rustlers we got waiting for the judge. Why?"

"We want to take Judge Travis back to Four Corners, convince him to lay low for a while, 'til we get a bead on who's trying to kill him."

"How long?"

"As long as the judge'll let us."

"Meaning, not long," Vin interpreted.

Staines huffed a laugh. "I hear that. Stubborn old goat, Travis." He stared down the road, in the direction of Flat Rock, and gave a nod. "Yeah, that's fine. Our business'll keep. Holding onto my rustlers and these cretins a few extra days just means more money from Santa Fe, right?"

"Right."

"Alright, then."

"You mind hanging around until the judge comes?" Chris asked then. "He should be here any minute."

Staines gave a smile. "Depends."

"On what?"

The sheriff's smile widened. "Got any food? We all kinda missed breakfast. And, if I'm not mistaken," he lifted an eyebrow, "Rolly here saw your man Tanner buying a couple of pies from Mrs. Vanderweil's shop this morning."

Vin sighed, already reaching into his saddlebags for the pastries. Chris, for his part, just continued to smile, though anyone with half an eye could see it was more of a grimace. Staines backed up to stand at Chris's side as Vin started passing out pieces of pie. Once he was in whisper range, he lowered his voice so that others wouldn't hear.

"You know I'm trying to extend an olive branch here, right?"

"Yep."

"It working?"

"Nope."

Staines snorted, frowning darkly. "So, what? You saying we'll always be enemies, Larabee?"

"Yup."

Staines snorted again, and then sighed. "Alright, fair enough." He gave a shrug. "Can't say I didn't try to be friendly."

Chris glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't reply. It would take a hell of a lot more than the Sheriff doing his job for Chris to ever consider the man as anything but scum. And, frankly, he didn't care.

* * *

Ezra rubbed at his burning eyes, strained from pouring through the stack of half charred papers on his saloon table, the ones Mary had him combing through looking for information on who else might be after the judge. How he got drafted for the job of her deputy investigator, he didn't know. He supposed he should be flattered that she trusted him, but, right now, he wished she'd trusted Josiah more.

A shush of the batwing doors had him lifting his head, seeking a distraction from the growing throb in his skull.

He smiled slightly at the sight of Rachel Jackson standing just inside the doors, looking a little like she was trying to decide whether to get a drink or head up to her room. He knew the look well. Maybe he should ask her to sit—

"Move it, nigger!" a man spat, shoving her aside to walk outside, nearly knocking her down. She staggered a few steps into an empty table, her arms immediately raised in a warding off gesture, but the man was already gone outside.

Ezra was on his feet before he was even aware of what he was doing, striding past Rachel and out the doors. The man was just on the other side, lighting a cheroot in the chill afternoon air. Ezra slapped it out of his mouth, grabbed a fistful of collar, and shoved him into the wall of the saloon. He was vaguely aware of Rachel watching him through the doors.

"What the hell was that?" Ezra snarled.

The man blinked, surprised. "What? What the hell was what?"

"You accost a lady, nearly knocking her down, and you don't apologize? What kind of a man are you?"

The man frowned, confused now. "What lady?"

"The woman you just shoved aside like she was dirt."

"The darkie?"

Ezra huffed a laugh. "Yes," he snapped. "The woman you just assaulted."

"I didn't assault anyone!"

"Oh, I think you did. And if she wishes to press charges, I'd be more than happy to make sure you spent the next three nights in jail."

"I…" The man suddenly frowned angrily, and attempted to dislodge Ezra's hand. He probably realized for the first time that he was taller than Ezra, by a good few inches. "The only one doing any assaulting is you, tin horn. The darkie doesn't care, why do you?"

"She most certainly does. Miss Jackson, care to…." Ezra trailed off, realizing for the first time that Rachel had, indeed, disappeared. She was no longer watching them. She may not have been watching them for a while.

"See?" the man asked, looking smug.

Ezra frowned, hating that look on anyone. Quick as a snake, he engaged the derringer on his wrist and shoved it into the man's chin.

"Tell you what I see," Ezra growled. "I see a dead man if you don't leave this town today. We don't take kindly to cretins like you. You best be on the next stage out of here, or the next time I see you…." He pressed the derringer deeper into the man's flesh. "I'll use this."

The man was breathing shakily now, head back and nostrils flaring. "You done?"

Ezra stared at him a moment longer, and then abruptly let go, taking a step back. With deliberate slowness, he tucked the derringer back against his wrist. "For now."

"You're crazy," the stranger snapped.

"Just get out of my sight."

The other man's eyes narrowed, but he did as he was told, gathering his coat around him and stalking away. Ezra watched him until he disappeared around a corner into an alley, and then sighed.

What the hell had brought that on? Especially for, as the man said, someone who apparently didn't care.

Turning, he headed back into the saloon, stopping briefly to let his eyes adjust after the brightness of the outside. He caught sight of Rachel Jackson sitting over in a shadowed corner by herself, looking a little like she was trying to be invisible. She had an empty glass of whiskey in front of her, and now seemed to be staring at nothing, a dark cloud hanging over her like a shroud.

And felt guilty. He'd been that man once. Nathan had done a lot to change that perception. And now….now he wanted to make up for it.

Walking to the bar, he held up two fingers to the bartender. Seth nodded, poured them out, and passed them over.

Glasses in hand, he drew in a fortifying breath, and then walked over to where she sat. When she didn't acknowledge him immediately, he sat down opposite her, placing the fresh glass of whiskey next to the one she'd already drained. She glanced at it, and then up at him, her expression cool.

"Something I can do for you?"

"Just thought you might need another."

"I repeat," she said testily, "something I can do for you? Because I can pay for my own drinks."

Ezra shook his head once. "I promise you, the only reason I'm here is because I felt you deserved another drink after what just happened. Seeing as I know a little of what you must be feeling, I—"

"You know a little of what I'm feeling?" Rachel interrupted, her tone a mix of disdain and disbelief. "How can you possibly know what I am feeling?"

"I have had some experience with being judged based on outward appearances." Ezra gave a shrug. "Sometimes it doesn't hurt to have a sympathetic ear."

"Sympathetic."

She all but growled the word, and Ezra began to wonder if he might have made a mistake coming over here. "I only meant—"

"I do not need your sympathy. I don't need anything else from you either."

"Now, surely, everyone can use a little kindness sometimes." He offered a smile.

"Why?" Rachel demanded, lowering her tone to a hiss. "Because it'll make up for me being shoved aside like that and treated like dirt every single day of my life? Or make up for the fact that I was a slave, forced to do whatever I was told for over thirty years? Or will it make my sister better, and bring my father back to life? Or maybe it's because I look like someone who is desperate for a white man to take her under his wing, and make her his own!"

Ezra actually flinched. What the hell?

"What? No, I….What?"

As quickly as that onslaught had come, she suddenly deflated, still radiating anger, but no longer with the same explosiveness as before.

"What do you want, Mr. Standish?" she asked sadly.

"Nothing. Honestly," he breathed, still a little shocked by the brutality of her words, "I do not wish anything from you, Miss Jackson."

"That's not true, Mr. Standish. You're here for a reason. What is it?"

"No, I….Look, all I want to do is…." He struggled for a moment, not sure what he did want, other than to be nice to Nathan's sister and to somehow make up for...for how he spent most of his life looking at people like her. Her eyebrows lifted in mock impatience at his hesitation.

"All I want," he tried finally, "is to talk."

"Talk," she repeated. She was good at repeating his words, he noticed.

"Yes."

"There is nothing I want to talk to you about," she said.

"Well," he gave a shrug, "that's alright. You don't have to talk. I could talk. Indeed, I have been accused of a predilection for loquaciousness on more than one occasion, to the point where I'm fairly certain my friends would argue that I could carry on a conversation with myself if need be." He attempted another smile, and her eyes narrowed in return.

"You must feel you owe my brother a great deal," she said slowly, "if you feel this obligated to talk to me."

"Obligated? No, I—"

"Please, Mr. Standish," she said, her eyes sliding sideways towards the doors of the saloon. She was looking for an escape route. He knew, because he did the same whenever he felt cornered.

Ezra sighed. "I'm not doing this very well," he conceded, drawing the glass of whiskey back to his side of the table.

She quirked an eyebrow at that, looking at him without hostility for the first time. "Other than some obvious guilt you feel regarding my brother, why would you even try?"

"Because, well…," he gave a shrug, "I saw your face earlier, and, I think, as I said before, that I may know a little of what you're going through."

She stared at him a moment longer. After a moment, she tilted her head. "You can't know what I'm going through," she whispered.

He looked up at that. "I might."

"No," she replied. "You can't. Oh, don't get me wrong," she raised a hand as he opened his mouth to protest. "I am sure that you've been judged on how you dress and your profession, felt the sting of the mistrust it brings. Similarly, I'm sure that, with that accent, you've felt the disdain of those from the Yankee side of the Mason-Dixon, maybe even had some misfortunes because of it. And from the way you covet money and fancy clothes, poverty has clearly touched you, enough that you keep everything you own compulsively neat and clean." Her head lowered. "But, let's be honest, Mr. Standish, none of that is indelible. Not even your accent. You can change your clothes, change your voice, change your profession, and, in a new town, no one would be the wiser. But me?" She leaned forward, touching her hand to her cheek. "I can never hide this, Mr. Standish. I can never change it or pretend it's not there, because it is, and everyone sees it. I could wear pearls and have gold dripping from my ears and my neck, but I will never be anything but a colored in the eyes of everyone I meet. Tell me, Mr. Standish," she leaned back again, slumping a little in her chair, "can you say the same?"

He sat there for a long moment, just fingering the glass in front of him. Finally, he shook his head.

"No."

She gave a nod, and her gaze drifted down, the last vestiges of fight leaving her.

"But," Ezra said quietly, "though I may not be able to truly empathize, I…." and his eyes narrowed slightly, considering his next words. "I can sympathize with you, Miss Jackson."

"Sympathize," she snorted, still not looking up. "There you are, coming full circle. And I ask again, what would that sympathy gain me, Mr. Standish?"

"A drink," he said, pushing the glass over once more. "A friend?"

She said nothing to that, her gaze fixed on the amber liquid in the glass.

Finally, she stood, her sharp eyes meeting his without guile. "Thank you, Mr. Standish, but it will take much more than a drink to be my friend." She smiled then, the first he'd seen. "But it was interesting to see you try."

And with that, she walked away, out of the batwing doors and into the sunshine.

Ezra drew the glass back, stared at it a moment longer, and then downed it in one gulp. When he rested it back on the table, he frowned. He'd come over here because he'd wanted to help Nathan out—to help his sister feel more comfortable in this place. He'd wanted to show them that they could consider him a friend, as he was a friend to Nathan. But, really, he'd done it because he felt he owed Nathan something for all the wrong he'd done the man when he'd first met him, with his distrust and his rude behavior, and wanted to make up for that a little by treating his sisters differently.

Now, though, he found he didn't want to nice to this woman just because she was Nathan's sister, or because he felt guilty. She had been brutally honest with him, not hiding anything about how she felt or what she believed, and, considering all the lies he'd lived with and heard in his life, that was pretty wondrous. He couldn't remember the last time someone just went straight to the point of the matter like she had done, without embellishment or guile. She had just stated, frankly, that she didn't want him as a friend.

Which, curiously, made him actually want to be one.

* * *

Nathan yawned as he walked back into the heart of town, coming from checking on Joe Reynolds at the boarding house. The man was doing surprisingly well—no sign of infection, and he was both eating and drinking. After everything else that had happened in the last day and a half, it was nice to have something work out.

He slowed as he caught sight of Esther talking to Buck. Leah was standing a few feet away, trying to look unobtrusive as the two spoke. Leah was smiling that frozen smile of hers, eyes downcast, which set off warning bells in his head. As he got closer, his eyes narrowed as he figured out that, despite all the warnings he'd thrown in Buck's direction since his sisters arrived, the ladies' man was _flirting_.

"Well," Buck was saying, grinning roguishly, "I can't say that I've not done my bit to keep folks safe. Just a few weeks ago, we had a couple of gunslingers in town that tried to walk out on Mr. Watson, one of our storekeepers, without paying. They thought not shooting him was payment enough. I taught them a little bit of a lesson on how to respect their betters."

"Really?" Esther breathed, her hands behind her back, eyes wide open. "You must be very good at teaching people."

"Well, I—"

"Buck," Nathan snarled. Buck jumped, and, as if noticing for the first time how close he had gotten, he took a step back from Esther. In his favor, he actually had the presence of mind to blush.

"Hey, Nate," the other man replied, blushing more. "I was just, uh, telling your sisters some stories."

Nathan arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I…yeah." Buck grinned, still abashed, and abruptly he tipped his hat at Nathan's sisters. "Actually, I think I hear Chris calling. I gotta go. See you foks later!" He turned and all but ran across the street to the saloon.

Nathan had to laugh. It wasn't Buck's fault, not really. Not flirting would be like not breathing, for the man. But the best part was that he could tease him later for using Chris as an excuse…especially since Chris wasn't anywhere near town.

Esther smiled brightly at his amusement, looking like laughing herself.

Leah, on the other hand, gave him a look that chilled his laughter so quickly, he could feel ice in the air.

"I need to speak with you," Leah said then, her tone harsh.

"Uh," Nathan blinked, "yeah. Sure. My clinic's just…."

"We know. Come along, Esther. I believe it is time for your medicine anyway."

Esther's expression had fallen to pieces, and she barely reacted as Leah took her arm and all but carried her to the stairs leading up to Nathan's clinic. He followed close behind, not completely understanding what was going on, but knowing that, yes, they needed to talk. They still hadn't had a chance to really discuss anything, and it looked like Leah was taking the lead on that.

And for the first time in a long time, Nathan actually felt like a little brother again.

At the top of the stairs, Leah shoved Esther into the clinic, his youngest sister stumbling a little on the rough wooden planks. Esther turned around, a dark frown on her face. Leah had stopped, still outside on the balcony, her hands on her hips.

"Leah," Esther protested, "I was only—"

"Do not speak to me."

"But—"

"You stay in there, and close the door. Nathan and I need to talk."

Esther's eyes flashed, but, her jaw set in stubborn anger, she grabbed the door and slammed it in Leah's face. Leah didn't flinch, she didn't even blink. Instead, she turned around to face Nathan, her eyes as calm as stormclouds before a heavy rain.

"I should have known better than believe that any of these men are your friends," she snapped. "When you told me that you had spoken to them about treating us with dignity, apparently that's about as reliable as any man's promise."

Nathan sighed. "Leah—"

"I do not want that man talking to her again. If you have any influence at all over him at all, you will tell him to leave Essie alone."

Nathan frowned then. "Now hang on a minute. I know what you're thinking, but Buck—"

"Oh, I know all about Mr. Wilmington. You think I can't see who he is in every advance he makes? Every coy look? Even the way he moves? He looks at every woman in this town with such disrespect that—"

"Disrespect?" Nathan repeated, shocked. "Leah, come on!"

"What? Since we arrived, he has been looking at Essie like he'd like to pull her down on the ground and—"

"Stop!" Nathan spat. "That's enough. I get that you're protective, and you're scared, but Buck Wilmington is one of the most honorable, kindest and honest men that I have ever met. He would never harm a hair on Esther's head, or any other woman's. Whatever you think you see in him, you're wrong."

"Am I?" She moved closer. "Or are you?"

"I know him," Nathan swore. "I know who he is, and, though I don't want him romancing Esther, I also know he wouldn't mistreat her or ever treat her with any less respect than she deserves."

"You know him," Leah repeated, her lip curling. "Meaning, you trust him."

"I do."

She looked away for a moment, gasping a little. When she looked back, her eyes were glistening slightly.

"How?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. "How can you trust him? After everything we've been through, everything I know you have seen, everything our father had to suffer through, after what they did to our mother, how can you trust _any_ of them?"

Nathan's anger faded somewhat, tempered by a sudden understanding. "Leah…."

"I saw what you did this morning," she said suddenly. "When you left us at the hotel. I followed you to the door." She shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around her. "You trusted that one up above the saloon to watch your back as you ran to help that woman in the newspaper office. He could have shot you down, Nathan. All he had to do was pull that trigger. I was sure…I was sure he was going to do it, until I heard the other one yell your name, needing your help. How could you trust him like that?"

Nathan grimaced. "I know. It's hard to understand, Leah, but I do."

She shook her head. "But you can't! You can't trust any of them, Nathan. It's too dangerous. What's to stop that southerner from changing his mind about you next time, and deciding it's not worth the risk to him to keep you alive? What's to stop that Casanova from going after Esther or Rachel one night when his lust overrules whatever sentiment he has for you? What's to stop any of them from changing their minds one day, when you're relying on them to protect you, to keep you safe?"

"Because," Nathan shrugged, "I know they won't."

"But how do you know? How _can_ you know? All our lives, we've been taught never to trust, seen the agony it brings, yet you can do it now?" She shook her head. "Way I see it, you're useful to them, Nate, but that's all you are. Tell me, what if this town decides it wants a real doctor, will they still want you here? Will they still be nice? Worse, what if you make a mistake taking care of one of them? What happens then? Will you still be useful enough to keep?"

Nathan huffed. "Keep? They don't own me, Leah."

"I know. That's why it's so dangerous. At least, back then, we were of value to someone. Now, we're not worth anything to anyone." She took another step, reaching out to grab his arm, her eyes full of fear. "You can't trust them, little brother. Don't you know that? You can _never_ trust them."

Nathan looked away, hearing her words echoing in that dark part of his mind that he'd tried so hard to bury over the last few years.

"I don't…I don't want to ruin what you have here, or what you think you have," Leah whispered. "But I was so afraid for you earlier. Putting your trust in that man. And I thought…," She shut her eyes, a tear running down her cheek. "I thought, how could I have found you again, only to lose you almost immediately, just like father. Just like…." She swallowed, stepping close enough to rest her head against his chest. "It's not safe here, little brother. I had hoped…I had hoped maybe….But it's not. Not for us, not for you."

Nathan lowered his head, touching the top of her hair with his chin, and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Leah."

She shuddered a sob, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Lord, he wondered, what sort of hell has she been through to be this terrified?

Esther opened the doorway, peeking outside, and spotted them on the balcony. Immediately, she was out there with them, wrapping her arms around them both.

And he knew….

He was never leaving them again. He couldn't.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER SIX: THE MEETINGS**

Ezra popped off the boardwalk as soon as he saw the judge's coach round the corner near the church, the black paint almost blending into the dark shadows of after midnight. Chris and Vin were riding alongside, both barely visible in the near blackness, moving at a measured pace in deference to being within the town limits so late at night, and because they were obviously exhausted from the hard ride. Glancing down at his pocket-watch, Ezra couldn't help but be impressed that Staines' telegram estimating their arrival had been so accurate.

And then Chris spotted the front of the Clarion, which, in the light of the oil-lamps, looked far more ghastly than in daylight.

Suddenly Solon was galloping full speed towards the burnt out office, and Ezra pivoted in that direction, jumping up onto the boardwalk opposite the broken window at the same time that Chris skidded his horse to a halt in front. Ezra smiled brightly.

"Welcome back."

"What the hell?" Chris demanded, leaping off the horse and nearly tackling Ezra. "What the hell happened? Where is Mary?"

"She's fine, Chris," Ezra assured, frowning down at the hands that had grabbed at his lapels, stumbling a little to keep his balance. "A little singed, and a headache, but otherwise alright. She's at the hotel, sleeping, but she wanted us to wake her when you arrived." He made an attempt to pry the hands loose. "Look, while I appreciate your fretfulness, could you please let—"

"She's by herself?" Chris still had his lapels, pushing him backwards, and Ezra frowned more, pulling a little harder at the man's grip as he stumbled.

"Of course not. JD's on guard duty. Can you let go now? You're wrinkling--"

"JD? Just JD?" Chris shoved him back almost to the wall, hard—which _hurt,_ damn it. "Where's Buck? Where's Nathan? Why the hell aren't you--?"

"Ow! Enough!" Ezra snapped. "Let me the hell go!"

Startled by the order, Chris actually did. He breathed out suddenly, closing his eyes and taking a step back, some of the wildness leaving his eyes. When he looked at Ezra again, the gaze was far more focused, and angry.

"Talk," he growled.

"Thank you," Ezra said, smoothing down his jacket. "There were two men. Both dead. They threw a stick of dynamite in through the window. But she's alright. In fact, she's remarkably well, considering." He glanced through the ruined window. "Obviously, can't say the same about the press. A sad day for First Amendment."

The coach drew up alongside at that moment, and Judge Travis threw open the door before it stopped moving, eyes wide and terrified. "Standish! Oh my god! Is Mary--?"

"She's fine, Judge," Ezra promised, raising his hands. Vin appeared around the side, looking as shocked as the other two, so he repeated the sentiment for his benefit. "Everyone's fine. But we need to have a talk. Turns out," Ezra squinted at Chris, "our artifice was not so artificial, and Mary is not the only target. As soon as this happened, we telegraphed Staines that you might be ambushed. He let us know that you'd already survived it and were on your way back here, expected to arrive…." He tilted his head as a clock chimed 1:00 am somewhere nearby. "Now."

Chris's eyebrows lifted, and he glanced over at Vin. When he looked back, he was frowning.

"You're right," he agreed darkly. "We need to talk."

"Artifice?" the judge asked then.

* * *

Ezra smiled at Mr. Sykes for bringing a round of hot, sweet tea into the hotel's parlor, the night manager having done so without being asked. Mary was shivering, despite being swaddled in two thick blankets, and looked to be in desperate need of something warm. She took the tea Sykes handed her gratefully, wrapping her shaking hands around the cup and whispering a soft thanks as she pressed herself deeper into her armchair. Her father-in-law sat very close to her, within reaching distance, touching her arm or hand as often as he could. He shook his head as Sykes offered a cup to him.

"Thank you, son, but I'm fine."

Sykes gave a nod, and proceeded to hand the cup to Ezra, who promptly added a dram of brandy to it.

"So, what were their names?" Mary asked, her voice hoarse, and added for clarity, "The men who attacked you, I mean."

"Daniel, Ben and Rueben Maxwell," the judge answered.

"And you knew them?" she asked, watching the judge carefully.

"Yes. You tend not to forget the faces of the people whose family member you kill. You always see them, sitting behind the accused, staring at you with so much hope and fury and hatred…." He paused, gripping his hands into fists before letting go and continuing. "These particular men were the brothers of a man I hanged two years ago for the murder of a storekeeper in Blue River. They threatened me then, but, until now, never tried to act on it." He looked over at Chris, who was standing with his back to them next to the fire, staring down at the flames. "You really think they were after Mr. Larabee and not me?"

"I think," Mary said, "that it is not a secret that you think very highly of him."

"And also Evie and Billy and you?"

"Yes." She sighed, holding the tea close to her face. "It seems so."

"Good lord," Orrin whispered, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hand. "What insanity have I brought on my family?"

Ezra's eyebrows lifted, wondering if anyone had caught the implication of that statement, however unconsciously made. The way Chris's back tensed up slightly, he had.

"It's not your fault," Vin tried, crossing his arms, leaning against the wall. "It's the fault of the people who committed the crimes that got them hanged. Them and their cracked families. It wouldn't have happened if they hadn't done wrong in the first place."

"He's right," Josiah added. "You cannot take any blame for this, Judge. It's just an unfortunate truth that those who battle evil will often suffer for it. Just ask the saints."

The judge snorted. "The saints." He shook his head. "I do not wish be a martyr, Mr. Sanchez. Not any of my family."

Josiah smiled softly. "I know that. I just meant—"

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword?" the judge offered miserably.

Josiah inclined his head.

Travis sighed. "Even so, it shouldn't implicate my wife and family. Involving them is…."

"Unconscionable," Ezra suggested.

"Yes."

"But justifiable," Ezra continued, shrugging. "At least in the minds of the families who feel you have done them harm. You took family away from them, they want to take family away from you."

"But my family is innocent," the judge snarled, glaring at Ezra as if he were the reason for all this.

"In their minds, however wrong, so were the men you hanged."

Travis frowned, and looked away. After a long moment, he sighed and looked again at Mary, reaching over to touch her arm.

"Are you truly alright, my dear?"

She smiled lightly. "I am. It may take me some time to make enough money to buy a new press, but, other than that, I was very lucky."

He nodded. "I am so sorry for that. I promise, I'll give you the money for a new press."

"No," Mary said, shaking her head. "Please. I don't want your money, Orrin. The others are right. This is not your fault. I need nothing from you, except for you to continue to stand up to people like this with me." She grabbed his hand. "Do not lose your courage now. It's the one of the few things that I have always taken comfort in—that you will always be there to champion what is right."

"But—"

"And if you don't, we will never free of these kinds of people. Not me, not Billy, not anyone."

He frowned. "Mary, I'm sorry, but I can't promise that. Every man has his breaking point, and we are very close to mine. If something happens to Evie, Billy or you because of me…."

"Then you will find and convict the men who did it. And you will continue to find and convict anyone and everyone who tries to cause the innocent people of this territory harm."

Orrin stared at her for a long moment, and then sighed. After a moment, he gave a small smile, shaking his head.

"Well, it seems I have no choice in the current circumstances in any event. If we don't do something about the people attacking us, then we will not live long enough to keep, as you say, championing what is right, Mary."

"Just as courage imperils life," Josiah said, "fear protects it."

The judge looked up at him with a curious expression.

"Leonardo Da Vinci," the preacher said, shrugging. "I've always liked that quote."

"Show off," Vin muttered. Ezra huffed a laugh, and, despite himself, even the judge gave the hint of a smile.

"I'll take that to heart, Mr. Sanchez." With one last nod, he straightened up in his seat.

"Right," he said. "So what's next?"

"Based on what we've researched over the last two days," Mary said, "Ezra and I have compiled a list of about ten families that we thought might have banded together to target you. As I mentioned to these gentlemen before, based on the letter we found, I suspect that the Ayers family is behind it all, convincing the others to join."

"And of those families, I take it both the Jones brothers and the Maxwells were on that list?"

"Yes." She shifted a little in her seat, drawing herself up a little. "I sent queries to the local sheriffs of the towns where the other eight families reside, and I have heard back from most of them. Of those unaccounted for…." She picked up her little journalist's notebook from the sidetable next to her chair. "The Ayers are away from their homestead, as we guessed, and so are two other families." She looked up. "The Quinns and the Franks."

"Peter Quinn," the judge said, nodding. "I hanged him four years ago for murdering a saloon girl. And Karl Franks was hanged two years ago for killing five people in a bank robbery. He was only caught because his fellow bank robbers left him behind after he was shot in the leg."

"Both families vowed revenge on you."

The judge nodded. "They did."

"How many members of these families?" Vin asked.

"That's difficult to count." Mary flipped a couple of pages. "I know immediate family, but there could be extended family we don't know about."

"Okay. So how many immediate family members?"

"Combined, there are nine, two of them women."

"Do you think the women will be a part of this?" Josiah asked, frowning slightly.

"I think we cannot rule anyone out, not even the old matriarch of the Quinn family," Mary replied. She blinked slowly. "I keep thinking of the mother of the Nichols family, how she drove them all to such…such despair over the loss of her son last year." She shuddered, and looked up at Chris. "Of all the battles, that one came the closest to finishing all of you. And here we are talking about, potentially, three times as many coming here."

Chris finally looked over his shoulder at them, his eyes soft.

"So, with the four members of the Ayers family," Ezra said, "that's at least thirteen people coming after Mary and the judge, correct?"

"Well, not all of them will be coming here," Vin corrected, looking at Chris. "Will they?" Ezra and Josiah looked at Chris as well. Had Buck, JD and Nathan been in the room, Ezra guessed, they too would all be looking at their unelected leader.

"No. Ayers and at least one of the other families will be coming here," Chris replied. "But the third family is headed to Santa Fe."

The judge sucked in a quick breath, his hands gripping into fists.

"We need to know what they all look like," Vin said then. "Judge, there anything about them that you can remember."

"I remember all of them," the judge replied tiredly.

"Then maybe," Vin shrugged, "I can draw 'em from your descriptions."

"It's a start," Chris said, finally turning around. "Only other thing we can do is be ready for them."

"How?" the judge asked.

"By warning everyone in town about what's happening, finding a place to hide the two of you for as long as we can, and….being ready for when they arrive."

"But how…?"

"That's my job, judge. You just need to let me do it without fuss."

Judge Travis frowned, but, amazingly, he said nothing more. Ezra stood then, ready to be commanded. Vin had also straightened up, as Josiah had moved closer.

Like soldiers, Ezra thought curiously. Once upon a time, he would have hated the idea, but now it was just part of who he was.

"Double watches, starting now," Chris said then, "change every couple. Ezra, you watch the saloons and the hotels. Talk to everyone new to town – you know how many there are?"

"Of course," Ezra replied. "I know where they all are, as well. But I can only point out those who have taken rooms. Those just passing through…?"

"Understood. Tomorrow, start questioning them—subtly. Get Buck to help you."

"Buck? Subtle?"

"Just do it," Chris snarled. "Josiah, you and JD alert the outlying families and tell them to warn us of any new arrivals they see coming up the road. Also, keep your eye out for any new ranch-hands. Vin, you work with the judge to get those faces, and then compare notes with the others. But, do it without being seen. We arrived late enough that I'm hoping no one saw us come in except Ezra. I don't want to tip them off that the judge is here until we know what we're up against, and if they see you and me back in town…."

"Got it," Vin said.

Chris then looked at the Travis's. " Mary…" He gave a small smile, "you need to pack. For the next few days, you and the judge won't be seeing the sun."

She sighed heavily, but nodded. "Are we staying here?"

"No, I've somewhere else in mind. So you're going to move tonight."

"How long do you think we have to hide?" the judge asked.

"Not long," Chris admitted. "They may already be here, watching." He glanced at Ezra, who shrugged. "They planned for this for a long time. My guess, they knew you would find your way here eventually, especially once you heard about the Clarion. I'm hoping you're here sooner than they expected, which will give us a little time, but not much. Way I figure, one way or another, this will be over by the time the sun rises on Monday."

"Fabulous," Ezra said, clapping his hands. "I for one am looking forward to a fun and eventful weekend. How about the rest of you?"

"Ezra?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Nathan frowned, rubbing his tired eyes. It was still night outside—he hadn't expected to be woken this early by Chris banging on his door. Glancing at the clock on his mantle, he frowned to see it was barely 2:00 a.m.

The orders he was being given weren't sitting well either.

"You want to use my clinic?" he asked.

"It's the best place in town to hide them. Safer than the hotel."

"But--"

"You have that back room. It's got just one window, facing nothing but grasslands, and it's on the second floor. Only way in and out is through the front. And Mary's still shaky from what happened last morning." Chris shrugged. "I'd like it if you were in the front room, watching over her."

"And the judge."

"Yeah."

Nathan pressed his lips together tightly, not sure how to say this. "Thing is, Chris, my sisters…."

"Are in town, I know. You might want to suggest they leave for a few days."

Nathan frowned at the assumption that it was his sisters that should leave. "And go where?" he snapped. "Eagle Bend?"

Chris narrowed his gaze. "Of course not. I was thinking more along the lines of the Seminole Village."

Nathan immediately bristled. "Why? Because that's where the black people are at?"

Chris's eyebrows lifted at the tone. "What? No. I just assumed, with Raine there—"

"I'm not sending them away, not without protection. What if these people take it into their heads to start attacking our families as well? I send them outside of town, they'll be sitting ducks. I can't risk that, not for the judge, not for anyone."

Chris frowned, his gaze searching. After a moment, he inclined his head. "I see."

Nathan replayed what he'd said in his head, and he frowned. "I don't mean to say that I don't want the Judge to be safe," he amended. "Just that I—"

"It's fine, Nathan," Chris said, stopping him with a raised hand. "I get it." He shrugged. "So I take it you're going to keep them in the clinic?"

Nathan crossed his arms. "Yes. Until this is over. They'll share that back room."

Chris nodded. "And you?"

"I'm going to be there as well, protecting them." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, I am, but they're my only priority right now. I have to put them first."

Chris stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he inclined his head. "I see," he said again.

Nathan gritted his teeth, not sure Chris did. "I'm sorry," he said again, because he was. He didn't like the idea of leaving the others to fight this without him, but he had to think of his sisters right now. They needed him. After Leah's little breakdown on his balcony, he realized that the one sister he had thought of as a rock was, in fact, barely holding on.

He'd already screwed up so much with them, not looking for them hard enough after the war, not writing after his father had told him where they were, that now that he had them back, he realized that he had to stop running and be there for them. Even if it meant giving up the thing he loved the most—being one of Chris Larabee's men.

And Chris knew it, too.

"So," Chris said, "just to be clear, when this is over, if they choose to leave…."

Nathan bit his lip. "I'm going to go with them."

Chris looked down. After a moment, he snorted a laugh. "Funny. I always figured it'd be Ezra. Or maybe Buck. But I never…," he shook his head, "I never considered it would be you. I always thought you'd never leave."

"They need me."

"I'm sure they do." He looked up again, and there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "I hope you help them find happiness, Nathan. I mean that. You all deserve it, more than any of us."

Nathan grimaced. "I just…I don't mean to say that…I'm grateful, Chris, I am. You know that I…that these last couple of years with you and the others…."

Chris just smiled softly. "Yeah. I know."

Nathan felt ashamed now, his cheeks flushing as he looked down.

"I won't tell the others," Chris promised.

"Thanks."

"Best get your sisters into the clinic first thing tomorrow morning. They're at the saloon, so I'm told. You might want to make sure they're out of there as soon as Inez releases the deadbolts on the doors."

Nathan frowned. "You're thinking this could happen that soon?"

"Maybe. I'm hoping not. I'd like to get a handle on what we're up against first, but I can't trust that we'll have the time."

"Right."

Chris studied him a moment longer, and then held out a hand. After a moment, Nathan took it.

"You're a great man, Nathan Jackson," Chris said. "It's been an honor having you with us." He smiled wryly, "And, if you change your mind…."

"I'll know where to find you," Nathan finished, smiling in return.

Chris shook his hand once, and then turned and left, closing the door to Nathan's room behind him.

Nathan sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He turned in a slow circle, examining the small boarding house room he rented, eyes drifting over all the "souvenirs" he'd gathered over the last few years. They were sitting on his bureau, the symbols of his life, one of them the bridle his father had made for him. Staring at it now, he remembered how proud his father had said he was of what Nathan had done with his life….

The life he was leaving.

But this was the right choice.

Right?

* * *

TBC…

As a warning, I won't be able to post tomorrow. I will post on Saturday though. Sorry in advance!


	7. Chapter 7

**BLOOD AND WATER****  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PREPARATIONS**

Ezra yawned, glancing down at his pocketwatch and wondering how it was that he still hadn't gone to sleep yet. It was almost noon, and, between the meeting late last night, the watch he'd taken at dawn with Buck, and talking to everyone that had come into town in the last couple of weeks since the shop doors opened, he was having a difficult time staying awake. He was now trying to take notes on what he'd learned before he forgot it all, not trusting his memory when he was this tired.

Lifting his hand to his face, he put his pencil down at rubbed at his nose.

He startled when someone plunked a mug of coffee in front of him. Blinking, he touched the mug and looked up.

His eyes widened slightly at seeing Rachel standing in front of the saloon table, her arms crossed.

She nodded at the mug. "It looked like you could use it."

He frowned slightly, and drew the warm mug closer. "Uh," he blinked again, "thank you."

She gave a shrug, and then sat down. He didn't hide his surprise at her decision to stay.

"Shouldn't you be at the clinic?" he asked. "Your brother told me this morning—"

"I don't take well to being cooped up," she explained. "Besides," she shrugged again, "I figured if I was with one of you, I would be alright. Nathan seems to believe in all of you, and who am I to judge?"

Ezra flashed a smirk. "I get the feeling you don't trust anyone's judgment but your own."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"I also," Ezra continued, his gaze narrowing, "get the feeling that you don't have much use for people."

Her eyes met his briefly, before she looked away. "From necessity, Mr. Standish. Self-preservation, and to protect my family. I keep them close, and everyone else at a distance—it's safer that way." She looked at him again. "What about you? Acquaintances I'm sure you have, but you're a confidence man, right? A cheat? I would think it'd be hard to have friends in your world too."

His eyebrows lifted, and his lips pursed slightly before answering. Two years ago, he could have counted all the friends he had on one hand. Actually, scratch that, he could have counted them with his hands behind his back. She was right—he'd been a nomad, one who changed his identity as often as he changed clothes. For safety, for survival, he couldn't trust anyone, meaning, as she surmised, he could never be friends with anyone.

But now….

"You'd be wrong," he admitted quietly. "I do. Six. Six people I would do anything for."

She held his gaze for a long moment, searching. After a moment, she nodded. "And their families?"

Ezra's immediate thought was, no, that his own heightened sense of self-preservation would not be so foolish as to protect anyone beyond the six men he worked with, but he stopped when the memory of taking a bullet for Mary flew into his mind, of protecting Hank Connelly by sending the Nichols in the wrong direction, of fighting Staines and his men to allow Obediah to get to safety….

"Curiously," he said, frowning slightly at the realization. "Apparently so."

"Then I should be safe with you," she said.

He snorted a laugh. "That's certainly seems logical," he said. "But why me? Nathan has five other men that he trusts, probably more than me."

"Because you're in the saloon, and I wanted to be in the saloon."

He flashed a smile at her honesty. "I see. I like that logic even more."

He watched her a moment longer, and then looked down at his notes. His handwriting was growing poor as a result of his fatigue. Grimacing slightly, he glanced at Rachel again. She was looking down at his notes.

"If you're going to be here," he suggested, "do you think you could help me?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "Help you? How?"

"I'm trying to transcribe everything I learned this morning, before I fall asleep and Lethe takes it away."

"And…?"

"If I were to tell you, could your write it down for me? It won't take long."

Her eyes widened. "Write? You think I can write?"

He frowned. "Of course. You were just reading my notes, weren't you? Plus, you're Nathan's sister. I just assumed…." He shook his head. "If I offended by making a wrong assumption, I—"

"No," she said, and, for the first time, she actually smiled, though it only lasted for a moment. She picked up the pencil he'd dropped. "I'd be happy to help." She took his notebook and studied it for a moment. "These are all suspects?"

"Perhaps."

"Interesting."

He smiled, thinking of the last time she'd used that word. "Yeah," he agreed. "It is." He lifted a hand to wave at Cherise, who was waitressing that day for Inez. "Are you hungry? I was about to order lunch."

"I already have," she replied, already reading down the page. "I need to take lunch back to my sisters and Nathan when it's ready. But I can help you until it's prepared." She tapped the pencil on the paper. "So you'd best start talking."

Ezra just smiled.

* * *

Nathan frowned at the strange picture of Ezra walking his sister across the street to the clinic. He watched as they stopped at the bottom of the steps, and Rachel gave a farewell nod. Ezra, for his part, looked up towards the balcony, and nodded up at him.

Nathan nodded back. He wasn't sure what Rachel was up to, to be honest. Ezra, he was fairly sure of, but Rachel going out of her way to talk to Ezra, of all people, was strange. Ezra's attitude and accent alone should have set her off, but, instead, she seemed to be talking to him more than any of the others.

He didn't know what to make of it.

He felt a presence at his side, and found Esther next to him, wrapped in a blanket. She had suffered a terrible fit of coughing this morning, not long after settling into the clinic. In the bright light of noon, she looked wan, if not washed out, the circles under her eyes dark.

She shifted closer to him, and he put an arm around her.

"Rachel doesn't like most people," she noted softly. "She rarely talks to anyone but us."

Nathan just hummed.

"She's making an effort for you," she said then. "Because she knows you care about them."

"Yeah, but why Ezra?"

"Because she likes saloons."

Nathan's eyebrows lifted, and he looked down at the sister he held. She caught his surprised look and grinned.

"I'm serious. She likes saloons."

He huffed a laugh, and turned his head as Rachel reached the top of the stairs. She looked at the two of them a moment, flashed a tiny, dry smile, and headed inside, shutting the clinic door behind her.

Nathan frowned, looking down at the wooden balcony railing.

"What is it?" Esther asked quietly. "Something's wrong, I can see. Are you worried about these people who are coming?"

He gave a nod. "It's going to be dangerous to be here."

"I get the impression it's usually dangerous to be here."

He snorted. "Yeah. I suppose it is." He looked up, studying the people on the streets. There were fewer than usual, since most of the townsfolk had been warned. He caught sight of Buck walking down the boardwalk with Virginia on his arm, the young lady blinking up at him with adoration.

"He doesn't waste time," Esther noted, having followed Nathan's gaze. "Yesterday, I was the only one he was looking at."

"He can't help himself," Nathan sighed.

"He must cause a lot a trouble because of it."

"You don't know the half of it."

She smiled softly, and looked down.

"I'm sorry," she said then, after a long pause, "about yesterday. With Leah."

"She was just being protective. She has a right, and she doesn't know him like I do."

"It's not just that. Back in Nashville…." Esther grimaced, as if her next words were going to be distasteful.

"Was she badly hurt?" Nathan asked.

"Not her."

Nathan frowned, looking down at her. "You?"

"I was fired from my job as a maid as soon as they learned I was sick, and I couldn't find work anywhere else. We couldn't afford my not working, so I…I found alternate employment."

Nathan sucked in a breath, closing his eyes.

"I…" Esther drew in a fortifying breath. "I didn't tell them. Not until I couldn't hide it anymore." She touched her belly. "I had a miscarriage when I was only a few months pregnant, and it nearly killed me." She lifted her head, tears running down her face. "That's when Leah wrote to you. We couldn't stay there any longer."

Oh _God_, Nathan thought. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked hoarsely.

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide. "Please," she whispered, "please don't hate me. Or them. It's not their fault. If you want us to leave, I--"

"No! Never!" His grip around her shoulder tightened. "I will never hate you," he promised. "I'm just….I wish…."

"What?"

"I should have written you as soon as I knew where you were," Nathan whispered, hating himself all the more now for delaying. "If I had…." He trailed off.

"Why didn't you?" she asked softly.

"Because I was afraid," he said. "I was afraid you'd hate _me_."

She tilted her head. "Hate you? For what?"

He swallowed. "For not finding you, all those years ago, after the war. For being too afraid to stay there long enough to find you. For running away."

She blinked slowly, and then smiled softly. "But you were all by yourself. And just a child still."

"I know, but—"

"We had each other, big brother. That's more than you did. And we did fine, until I got sick—you couldn't have helped that." She smiled again. "And we could have tried harder to find you."

"Still…"

"We all make choices, big brother. If they were the wrong choices, then we make up for them. That's what I'm trying to do. But the choice you made to come here was not a bad choice, not even a little. As for not writing earlier…." She shrugged. "We are as guilty as you. We were afraid you didn't want anything to do with us."

"I didn't want that at all." He smiled suddenly. "Having you three in my life again is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me."

She smiled knowingly. "_The_ greatest?"

He mock frowned at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means…" She swept a hand out. "I would have thought this was a pretty great thing, what you have here."

"It's not important."

"Oh, don't lie, Nathan. We can all see it. Why do you think Rachel is trying so hard to be nice?"

Nathan frowned darkly. "She doesn't need to."

"Of course she does. We want to be part of your life. These friends of yours are—"

"She doesn't need to," Nathan stated more firmly, "because I'm going to leave with you when you go."

Esther froze. "What?" she said.

"I should have gone to find you a long time ago. And now that we're together…."

Esther stared up at him, still looking shocked. Finally, she shook her head. "No. We didn't come here for that."

"Esther…."

"You can't."

"I've made up my mind."

"But—"

"Don't you want me with you?"

She blinked. "I…yes, of course, but…But…."

"Then it's decided," he said, hugging her close again and looking towards the sky. "I'm not losing you again."

She said nothing to that, just hugged him back. And he smiled, nearly certain he was making the right choice.

Nearly.

* * *

"You're sure?" Chris asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Pretty damn certain," Buck replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the jail's door frame so he could see the street more clearly. Chris tapped the notes Ezra had left him on the desk. Combined with Buck's report, it painted a pretty dark threat.

"How many can you account for?" he asked.

"All four members of the Ayers family, including the sister. They got here yesterday. She's posing as a war widow and staying at the hotel. The three brothers are spread out between the saloons and the boarding house, all under fake names. Pretty sure the oldest one is Rett."

"That matches what Ezra told me," Chris said, nodding. "He's also pretty sure that the old woman staying at the hotel is Mrs. Quinn. Josiah also thinks he spotted Quinn's son and a bunch of her grandsons all working out at the Mitchell farm as ranch-hands. They started less than a week ago. Ezra apparently had a run-in with one of the grandsons just yesterday."

"Oh?" Buck asked, glancing over his shoulder at Chris.

"Says he nearly knocked over one of Nathan's sisters. Ezra took offense."

Buck's smile grew sly. "Really? Which one?"

"Um…" Chris frowned, not wanting to admit that he hadn't actually met any of them yet. "The middle one I think?"

"Rachel? Wow. That's interesting." Buck's smile grew even more sly, his expression one of pure wickedness. "I didn't think she wanted anything to do with any of us."

Chris just shrugged. He didn't have time for that now. He tapped the notes on his desk again.

"Ezra's also pretty sure that they don't think the judge has arrived yet, which is why they haven't tried anything. Mrs. Quinn apparently tried to get him to tell her over tea this morning. He called her, and I quote, 'a wily old fox.'"

"Well, they're going to know soon as you and Vin start showing your faces in town. You've been hiding this whole time, but as soon as they see you, they'll know the judge is here."

"I know."

"No sign of the Franks, though," Buck said. "No one in town or outside matches the pictures Vin drew."

"Can you alert Sante Fe?" Chris asked, standing.

"Surely."

"Good."

"So what's next?" Buck asked.

"Ezra managed to convince Rett this morning to join him for a game tonight. He's going to see if he can figure out what Rett's planning. You'll be there as well, to watch his back. JD's going to be with Mary and the judge, just in case they figure out where we've hidden them. Vin is going to keep an eye on the Quinn's out at the ranch, and Josiah's watching the women."

"And you?"

"I'll arrive at the saloon late. See if I can't rattle Rett while Ezra's with him, maybe even get him to try something without all his backup there."

"What about the other two Ayers brothers? Nate watching them?"

"No."

"But—"

"He's got his sisters to worry about. He'll be with them."

Buck's eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing to that.

"I'll watch the Ayers brothers," Chris said then, "until I join you at the saloon."

Buck grimaced, but still said nothing, looking down at his pocketwatch. "Right. So, what time's the game?"

"Ezra's asleep right now. I think it's set for eight."

Buck frowned, and looked up again. "Alright," he said. "That's six hours from now." He smiled suddenly. "Maybe I'll go see if I can't get to know the war widow Ayers while we're waiting."

Chris smiled, and tipped his hat. "Wherever you heart takes you, big dog. Just be sure to send that telegram first."

Buck nodded, and disappeared out the door, closing it shut behind him.

Chris moved the rest of the way to the door, peeking through the curtains. No one could see inside the jail unless they had their heads up against the glass, but that was enough to convince Chris to stay in the shadows. At least for now.

* * *

TBC….


	8. Chapter 8

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT: THE UNEXPECTED**

Ezra blinked a few times, wiping away the cobwebs of his dreams (something about Chris and Mary being married by a shotgun carrying Buck Wilmington), and sat up to get his bearings.

The sun still peeked through the edges his heavy curtains, so he couldn't have slept too long. Yawning, he reached for his pocketwatch, and frowned to see it was still only late afternoon. He could have slept longer. A light headache rapped at his skull, his body's way of being annoyed with his sleeping habits, he supposed. Still, he was awake now, no point in prolonging the advent of the night's work.

Yawning again, he stood and dressed, slipping on the suspenders over a crisp white shirt and considering which vest to wear. Blue? Red? Green?

Red.

As he slipped it on and buttoned it up, he headed to the window and lifted the curtain briefly to look down at the street below. Fairly quiet, though a few folks were wandering around, far fewer than normal. He spotted Rachel heading in the saloon's direction again, probably to come fetch dinner for Nathan and his sisters. He smiled, and touched a hand to his chin.

Ugh. Rougher than one of Josiah's new window sills. That wouldn't do. But he'd have to move fast if he wanted to intercept her before she left.

With practiced speed, he had his face lathered and the blade making quick work of the stubble.

He was nearly done when it hit him. The image of Rachel crossing the street had become stuck in his mind, surrounded by a feeling that there had been something wrong with the picture, more than just the lack of people. And then it hit like a ton a bricks.

He'd seen one of the Quinn brothers on the opposite side of the street, leaning against a pole. The same one that had knocked her over—he had been watching her. The Quinns were all supposed to be out at the Mitchell Ranch, being monitored by Vin….

"Hell," he spat, quickly wiping his face off and grabbing the rifle by his bed. Checking it was fully loaded, he cocked it and returned to the window.

Why would they be watching Rachel, he wondered as he lifted the corner of the curtain again to peek out. Because she was Nathan's sister? No, why would they care about that. Unless they wanted to use Rachel to threaten Nathan. But why? To stop him from fighting? Maybe. To use him to hurt the judge? No, Nathan wouldn't do that…would he? No. Of course not. Besides, Rachel hadn't looked worried. It had to be something else.

He tapped the stock of the rifle in his hands, trying to make sense….

Of course! The _food_. Rachel had carried food back to Nathan's at lunchtime, enough for three people. What if they didn't realize Nathan had moved his sisters there? What if they thought that food was for someone else?

Bad, very bad. If they thought the judge and Mary were at the clinic…

He threw back the curtain, raised the glass and leaned out, the rifle with him, pressed to his shoulder.

Two men were on the balcony in front of the clinic, one keeping watch, the other about to break in, gun first.

Ezra didn't think—he fired, and the one about to break in fell back with a shout of pain. He aimed at the other man….

The bullet slammed into his left shoulder, throwing him back into his room, pain erupting through his body. He landed hard on the floor with a shout of pain, head impacting the foot of his bed, blacking out his vision.

* * *

"Chris!" Vin's shout echoed through the jail as he burst through the back door. "Chris, where are you?"

"Keep your voice down!" Chris snarled, laying down the gun he'd been cleaning. "Why aren't you—?"

"Because the Quinns slipped out on me. They all went inside the Mitchell ranch for lunch, and didn't come out. I finally went down to check, and found out that they'd gone out the back. They must've spotted me, or someone else did. Damn it!" He banged his arm against the cells. "Chris, I'm sorry."

Chris shook his head. "Not your fault. Could've been anything that set them off." He started rapidly putting the gun back together that he'd been cleaning. "How far ahead of you were they, you reckon?"

"They've been in town at least an hour. Long enough to set up." Vin crossed his arms as he spoke, still not willing to give up the fault. Paying no attention, Chris loaded his gun, snapped the chamber into place, and shoved in his holster. He looked up then.

"Looks like we're in for a fight sooner than we thought. You ready?"

Vin gave a nod. "Where do you want me?"

"As you said, they've been here long enough to probably scout the best vantage points. My guess—they saw Ezra covering Buck and Nate from his window above the saloon after the Clarion was hit, so they'll have someone on his window already. Probably the roof of the hotel. Think you can get up there without that person seeing and steal that spot back?"

Vin smiled and gave a single nod. "What about you?"

"I'm going outside, see who I can shake. It should be enough to alert our boys. Buck's still with the Ayers' war widow, and last I saw Josiah, he was going to go check on the Ayers boys after one last cup of tea with Mrs. Quinn."

"What about the others?"

"Ezra's probably still asleep. Nate's with his sisters. JD should be with the judge and Mary." He grabbed a rifle from the rack next to the door and, cocked it, and looked over his shoulder at Vin.

Vin tipped his hat and turned to head out the back again.

He stopped at the back door when the clear sound of a rifle discharging echoed from somewhere near the saloon, followed a half second later by a second gunshot. When he looked back, Chris was already out the door, answering that rifle shot with some of his own—Vin was going to have to move fast.

* * *

Buck leaned forward, locking the girl in with his arms. Sally Ayers, or "Mrs. Sally Beaumont" as she was calling herself, leaned against the alley wall, blinking and blushing furiously.

"You really are a scoundrel, aren't you, Mr. Wilmington," she purred. "Spending all this time with me, and now leading me into this dark alleyway…." She tilted her head up, pouting her lips slightly. "Whatever is a girl to think?"

"I'd think it was pretty obvious, Mrs. Beamont," Buck replied, tilting his head to match hers as he leaned in closer. "I find your company…appealing."

"Appealing," she repeated, ducking her head into her shoulders a little, her curly brown hair bunching up around her face. "How appealing?"

"Appealing as a cold drink on a hot, summer day," Buck cooed, leaning even closer, "and a burning fire on a freezing winter night."

"Tell me more," she whispered, her breath on his lips.

"Appealing as the first bird-song after a ravage storm," Buck pressed, closing his eyes to smell the lavender in her hair, the curls tickling his face, "and the first rainfall after a terrible drought."

"More," she said.

"App—"

He stopped, surprised by the sensation of something hard and cold shoved into his ribs. His eyes widened, not sure how he'd let his guard down as much as he'd had. And he'd _known_ she was no good.

"Appealing," she said then, nothing but ice in her words now, "as a bullet in your heart?"

He backed up slowly, looking down at the gun she had in her right hand, her left lifting to pull back the hammer.

"Not that appealing," he said, "no."

"I'm sorry," she said then. "I really am. I mean, I planned this, but…" She licked her lips, lifting the gun up more. "Part of me really doesn't want to. I didn't know you'd be so…so…"

He smiled slightly. "Handsome?"

She shrugged. "I was gonna say 'pretty,' but handsome works too."

"_Pretty_?" Buck blurted, moving back another step. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Those gorgeous blue eyes, fluffy brown hair, cute little whiskers…" She gestured towards his face. "How long do you spend on them, really? Keepin' 'em so trim and neat?"

Buck's eyebrows lifted. "I don't spend any time at all! They're naturally this way."

"Oh come on," she said, her eyes shining with mischief now. "I could smell the oil in em. No way that's natural." She stepped forward, gun still raised, but not as high.

"Natural as they come, Miss Ayers," Buck retorted, hands on his hips now. "And I ain't pretty."

"Oh sure you are," she purred again, stepping even closer. "I swear, if it weren't for...." Her eyes widened suddenly, and she all but dropped the gun in surprise. "Wait, what did you call me?"

He was already moving, grabbing the gun out of her hand before she could react. When she tried to scream, Buck slapped his hand over her mouth and slammed her back against the wall, her eyes full of fear as he studied her stricken features.

"You're damn lucky you're prettier than me," he growled, "'cause I wouldn't normally be so nice to someone who just tried to kill me."

She tried to say something, but he just pressed harder with his hand, forcibly shushing her.

"Now you listen to me, Miss Ayers. If you behave, then I won't do anything but march you back into the hotel by the back door, tie you up in your room, and then leave. But if you try to make a sound, and tip off your brothers or the Quinns, then I'm going to knock you out. Now," he tilted his head, "I don't believe in hitting women, but I will if—"

Two rifle shots in quick succession broke his concentration, causing him to look towards the main street. Sally took that distraction to kick him hard in the shins, shove him away, and then bolt towards the back.

"Hey!" he shouted, hopping after her.

She made it to the end, only to run face first into a board of wood that came out of nowhere. She went down like a sack of potatoes, landing in an unconscious heap in the dust and dirt. Buck skidded to a stop, surprised. It turned immediately into a grin when Mary rounded the corner, dropping the board to the ground.

"Now, me," Mary said, pushing a blonde strand of hair out of her face, "I don't have any problem hitting women."

Buck's laugh died on his lips as more gunshots started echoing down the alleyway from the main street. He heard Chris's peacemaker join the fight, but no one else yet. All mirth gone, he turned and made sure no one was gunning for them from the main street, before quickly grabbing Mary's arm and tucking her between a couple of tall boxes.

"Not saying I'm not appreciative, Ms. Travis, but you need to get inside." She and the judge were hiding out on the second floor of the Clarion's office, which was also Mary's home. They'd shored it up last night, and they'd figured no one would look for her and the judge up there, since it didn't look safe from the outside.

"I know, I know, but we overheard," she said pointing up at the window on the Clarion's side of the alley. "JD tried to stop me from coming to help, but…"

Yeah, stopping Mary when she got something in her head was about as effective as trying to stop a train at full speed on a downhill.

"Right. Even so, Ms. Travis, you need to…." He turned upon hearing Josiah's schofield join the fight, but he had yet to hear Ezra….not good. He needed to help them. He swore again, and then bent down, picking up Sally Ayers and tossing her over his shoulder. "Think you can help me some more?"

Mary arched an eyebrow, but obediently followed him around the back of the hotel and in through the kitchens.

* * *

"I am sorry about this, ma'am," Josiah said, making sure the bonds on Mrs. Quinn were tight. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"Am I uncomfortable?" she spat, all fury and scorn on her age-lined face. "I'll show you uncomfortable, you filthy bastard! I'll tear you to pieces when my boys set me free!" Her gray, stringy hair was a wild halo around her head, from when she'd attempted to struggle with Josiah after she'd tried to knock him out with a lamp when his back was turned. Lucky for Josiah, his head was harder than that.

"Well, that's one invitation I'm won't be accepting," Josiah remarked, thinking about how sweetly she had asked him up here for tea just ten minutes ago. He checked her knots one more time, then slipped the gag over her mouth. She snarled and spat, tossing her head like an angry dog, but he got it on and in place.

Suddenly two rifle shots echoed clearly through the room, one from outside, and one that sounded almost like it was overhead. Forgetting all about Mrs. Quinn, he ran to the window, drawing his gun.

First thing he saw was Ezra's window wide open directly opposite, its curtains blowing in the breeze, blood speckling the pale yellow fabric. _No_!

He ran out of the room and down the stairs, not even bothering to check for danger as he burst out the front doors.

A quick look to the side, he caught sight of Chris in a battle with a man firing on him from Watson's. Where were….?

Gunshots suddenly pelted the boardwalk at his feet, he jumped sideways, just managing to find cover behind a water trough before being hit.

He'd wanted to get over to the saloon, to get to Ezra, but he was pinned down as effectively as if he'd screamed his location to these bastards. Pulling out his gun, he listened for a minute, and judged someone to be shooting from somewhere down the street.

Risking a look, he caught sight of at least two rifle barrels pointed in his direction, and ducked back as bullets slammed into the trough, water sprinkling over the top of his head.

As soon as there was a pause, he was up and shooting back.

* * *

"Judge, no! Please!" JD whispered, trying to pull the shotgun from the judge's hands, where the judge was about to use it to lift up the curtains to look down into the alleyway where Mary had gone to help Buck. They could still hear Sally Avery taunting Buck below. Orrin wrenched the shotgun free, and wagged a finger at the young sheriff.

"JD, you couldn't stop Mary, what makes you think you can stop me?"

At least he was still keeping his voice low, JD thought gratefully as he whispered his answer: "Because Mary promised to come right back, and it's possible no one will see her. But if you start firing, they'll know we're up here, and I don't think this structure could sustain that much gunfire. Please!"

"I won't see anyone else get hurt because of me, young man," the judge snarled. "One is enough!"

"It's not because of you! Why don't you get that? This isn't your fault, but if you die here, who do you think they'll blame, huh? Us. For not protecting you. And your wife'll be a widow, and your daughter-in-law won't have anyone to look to. Do you really want that? Do you?"

"I—"

The rifle shots startled them both.

JD ran to the Mary's front room to look out the window, the judge on his heels. Before JD could stop him, the judge was peering with him through the curtain towards the jail, just as Chris ran out the doors and instantly came under fire, the gunslinger only just managing to find cover behind a post.

"To hell with this," the judge snapped, lifting the shotgun and preparing to raise the curtain. JD grabbed the shotgun and pulled him back.

"At least follow me next door," JD growled. "This place is too unstable. We can use the second floor of the bath house. No one lives up there."

The judge hesitated, and then nodded. "Lead the way."

* * *

"What was that?" Esther asked, jumping up from the bed at the rifle shot and shout of pain outside the door. Nathan was already moving, knocking over the chair he'd been sitting on in his haste, his gun in hand. A second rifle shot echoed through the room, and suddenly the world beyond the doorway seemed to erupt in gunfire.

"Get in the back!" he ordered, reaching the front door just as someone started knocking.

"Open up! Healer, open up! Please!"

Nathan's eyebrows lifted at the plea, surprised.

"Who is it?"

"My cousin's been shot! Please!"

Nathan grimaced, glancing behind him to check that his sisters had gone in back. They had. Swallowing, but unable not to help someone in need, he kept the gun raised as he cracked open the door, pointed outside. He found himself with a face full of metal as the man…no, scratch that…the boy on the other side met him gun for gun.

Neither man fired, however.

"You're the healer?" the boy demanded then, his voice hoarse. Nathan frowned, but nodded.

"Yes."

The boy suddenly lowered his gun, and pointed to a man sprawled on the balcony, this one groaning in obvious pain, blood pooling beneath him. "Can you help him?"

Nathan frowned, opening the door a little wider, still keeping his gun on the boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chris pinned down not far from him in front of the jail, and Josiah partially visible behind a trough, also looking stuck. He ached to help them. He looked again at the pleading young man standing in front of him.

"Please. He's my cousin," the boy said. "His name is Leo. He's a good man. It's my fault he's here. Please. He has kids."

"Drop your gun," Nathan ordered.

The boy hesitated, and then did as he was told, dropping it by his feet. Nathan kicked it off the balcony, and then stepped back into the clinic.

"Get him inside. I see one gun on you, or him, and I will kill you both. Understand?"

The boy nodded, and reached down to grab his cousin's jacket in order to drag him inside. Nathan continued to hold the gun on him, not letting up even when he closed the door behind them. Esther and Leah were standing in the doorway to the other room, watching.

"I said get in the back!" Nathan snapped at them.

Leah stared at him, and then her gaze narrowed. Instead of complying, she arched an eyebrow at the stranger.

"What's your name, son?"

"Mike. Mike Quinn."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen. Seventeen in a month."

"Hunh," Leah huffed. "Well, get your cousin on the bed, Mike. Esther," she turned, "boil some water. Your brother is going to need it for his doctoring."

Esther nodded and promptly turned to do what she was told. Leah gestured impatiently at Mike to put Leo on the bed. She then strode across to Nathan, and plucked the gun out of his hand.

"I'll cover this young man. You do your job."

Nathan just stared at her in surprise for a moment, and then, shaking himself out it, he jogged across to his medicine cabinet for his tools.

* * *

"Ezra!"

Rachel's scream pierced the haze of pain Ezra was in, and he looked up from the floor as she entered the room, her eyes wide. She spotted him a second after he spotted her, and she stepped forward.

"No!" he shouted, raising his hand. "Stay there! By the door!"

"But—"

"I'm fine," he promised, pushing up with his good arm to a sitting position. "It's just a graze. I'll be fine."

"Just a graze? You're on the floor, and your whole left arm is soaked in blood!"

"Grazes can bleed," he said, rather weakly. He got all the way up to sitting, using the bed for leverage, and, ignoring the dizziness as best he could, he picked up his rifle. He looked across at her again. She was still in the doorway, looking torn.

"You have to go," he said hoarsely, trying to wave her away. "You're in danger here. Please. Where is Inez?"

"She hustled all the patrons into the back rooms," Rachel replied. "I came up here."

"You need to get back downstairs. Find Inez. She'll protect you." He was on his knees now, using the rifle like a cane.

"No," she said. "You're hurt. You need my help."

"I'll be fine," Ezra promised again. He fell against the wall next to the window, and the shadow of his body must have been an alert, because gunfire was smashing through the glass all over again.

Rachel screamed, ducking down and crowding between the bed and the wall next to the door. Ezra just stayed as still as he could, eyes closed against the flying wood and glass, waiting for a break in the gunfire.

* * *

Vin lifted up the hatch leading to the roof of the hotel, taking care not to lift it too high so as not to tip off whomever was up here.

A quick survey showed just one shooter, leaning against one of the eaves and firing down on the street—probably at Ezra or Chris, Vin figured. He closed the hatch and, after climbing a little higher on the ladder and bracing himself, Vin pressed his back to it and counted to three.

In one loud, fluid move, he threw back the hatch with his back, and pointed his sawed off rifle at the back of the shooter.

"Drop it!"

The man—a tall blond young man, turned in shock, his hands falling from the rifle he was holding, eyes wide. Vin started to smile….

And then he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his skull.

"I think you'd better drop it, Vin," a woman's voice said quietly. "Please."

_Crap._

_

* * *

_

TBC….

Whee!


	9. Chapter 9

By the way, I just wanted to say thank you so much for the feedback! You're all making my heart so glad! I can't tell you how much it means, really encourages me to want to write more stories! So, thank you!

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: THE GUNFIGHT**

Buck dumped Sally Ayers in the hotel kitchen's larder on top of a pile of flour sacks, grabbed an apron and tossed it at Mary.

"Tie her hands with this."

Mary's eyes widened. "You want me to tie her hands with apron strings?"

Buck nodded, placing Sally's gun on a shelf, and picked up an apple. "Sure. Something wrong with that?"

"No, I'm just appreciating the irony," Mary replied, pulling Sally's hands together to tie them up. Buck smiled softly, and slipped the apple in his pocket.

"I'm leaving her gun here," Buck said, tapping the shelf. "Keep it on her when she wakes, and if anyone comes through that door that you don't know—"

"I know what to do," Mary said, winding the apron strings around the girl's wrists. "Go."

Buck grinned, and left, closing the door shut behind him. He listened then, and judged most of the gunfire to be coming from the roofs. He needed to get up high. Unholstering his weapon, he jogged to the front hall and then up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He had just reached the top floor of the hotel when he saw Vin standing at the top of the ladder, and heard the order for him to drop his weapon. From a woman.

A woman he knew very well. His heart stopped for a moment in total anguish.

_Hell_.

"Climb the rest of the way up," she was saying. "Rett, do you want his gun?"

"That thing?" a man's voice replied, his voice rough. "Hell no. Only people who use sawed off rifles are people with worse aim than a drunk trying to write his name in the snow."

Buck snorted a laugh, and grabbed the base of the ladder. Vin was up by now, but she hadn't closed the roof hatch behind him.

"Watch him a minute," Rett growled, and Buck flinched at the loud discharge of a rifle being shot repeatedly. "That gambler's got nine lives, damn it! I already shot him once, why ain't he down?" Buck swallowed at the news, and tried to take heart--if Ez was still up and fighting, that had to be a good sign.

"Move over there," the woman ordered, obviously to Vin. "Now keep your hands where I can see 'em, and we won't kill you. Rett, should I go fetch some rope?"

Buck climbed up a couple of rungs, keeping his ears open as he waited for the answer to that.

"Not much point, love," Rett Ayers replied darkly, stopping his firing, probably to reload. Buck closed his eyes in disappointment.

"Why?" she asked. "He's not the one we're after."

"He's not the one _you're_ after, Virginia," Rett answered. "Me, I plan to kill them all. Now move out of the way."

That was his queue. Buck climbed the rest of the way up, poking his head out just as Virginia Elliot, wide-eyed but compliant, stepped away from where Vin was standing with his hands up on the edge of the roof. Rett Ayers, a tall blond man, had his back to Buck, and his rifle pointed directly at Vin's head.

Virginia spotted Buck at almost the same moment that he'd appeared, her gaze switching to his.

"Buck!"

Ayers reacted instantly, turning around to fire…and Vin jumped, tackling him to the ground. Buck switched his aim to Virginia as the two men fought, completely confident in Vin's ability to kick ass. Lips trembling, eyes wider than ever, Virginia dropped the gun she was holding and raised her hands.

"Good girl," Buck said, climbing up a little higher on the ladder. "Kick it over."

She just stared at him, not moving, a sharp contrast to the wrestling match happening behind her. A tear ran down her face.

"Virginia…." He warned. "Kick the gun to me."

At that moment, her expression crumbled from fear to fury, and she kicked the gun so hard in his direction, he actually ducked. She dove at the same time for the Vin's mare's leg, grabbing it as she rolled, and turning to point it at Buck.

He fired. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't wanted to. It was just instinct.

Shock lit her features, eyes blinking, and she looked down at her right shoulder, already trembling with the pain. The shotgun fell from nerveless fingers, her mouth agape at the bleeding hole.

"You…you…shot…?"

"I'm sorry," Buck whispered. She looked back at him, touched a hand to the wound, and fainted dead away.

A solid thwack returned his attention to the men, just in time to see a triumphant Vin standing over an out cold Rett Ayers. When Vin looked at him, Buck simply grimaced, and Vin frowned deeply.

Without a pause, Vin grabbed Rett's rifle, strode across to Virginia and liberated his mare's leg from her hands, and, by the time he'd reached the edge of the roof, he'd shoved the mare's leg into his holster and had the rifle pressed to his shoulder and firing at someone on the roof of Digger Dan's.

Buck ducked his head, falling back and letting the edge of the hatch hold him up. Sweet Virginia Elliot. Oh God.

* * *

Ezra opened his eyes when the gunfire destroying his room seemed to pause, and tried to lift the rifle in his hand to fire back. Except his left arm wasn't complying. Which meant….

"I need my guns," he said.

Rachel popped her head up, where she'd had it buried in her knees, crouched on the ground.

"What?" she said.

"I need…" he frowned, and gestured towards his dresser, "my guns."

"Where are they?"

"There." He pointed this time. "On top of the dresser, behind the door."

She looked up, and made to stand.

"No, stay down. As much as you can. Use the dresser as cover when you get there."

She stared at him a moment, and then nodded. Moving quickly, she closed the door and crawled over to the dresser, burying herself between it and the wall.

"There are two guns on top," Ezra said then. "Slide them all over to me across the floor."

Nodding in understanding, she slid up the side of the dresser, grabbed the Remington on top, and then knelt down and slid it across. She had good aim—it hit his feet. A moment later, she did the same with the colt.

"What's the little one in the contraption?" she asked.

"Derringer. You take that one and keep it close."

She nodded again, grabbing it out of the rig and tucked it into a pocket on her dress.

Ezra exhaled a calming breath, and then knelt, picking up the guns as he did so. Gunfire instantly pelted the windows, further shattering the glass, and forcing him to press his back again to the now very small seeming wall between the front window and the side window.

At the next break, he turned, knelt, and fired a few shots in the direction of his attacker—who seemed to be in the window above the telegraph office. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw muzzle flashes on the street in front of the hotel, and spotted Josiah trapped behind a trough across the street. Ducking back inside, he leaned closer into the wall and tried to see Nathan's clinic. Unfortunately, the angle was too sharp—he couldn't see it without leaning out, which is something he couldn't do right now. Nor could he move far from his position without whoever was across the street hitting him again.

Sliding across the wall, he lifted up the curtain on the other window in his room, the one that faced the alley. He had only a second's warning to get out of the way as the stranger sitting on the roof of Digger Dan's Saloon spotted him and started firing.

Rachel screamed again. Ezra shot back as soon as the other man ducked down to reload.

The Remington ran out, and he started using the colt.

Six bullets later, he still hadn't hit the target, which he was putting down to dizziness from blood loss and not bad aim, because he didn't have bad aim. No sir.

He almost giggled, kneeling down and reaching for the bullets tucked in his….

His gunbelt was still hanging on the bedpost. Damn it, what the hell was his problem today?

"Rachel?"

"What?"

"I need bullets. There's a couple of boxes on the dresser."

"I saw."

"Can you toss 'em over?"

"I'll do you one better," she said then, grabbing the bullets off the top of the dresser and then crouching down again. "I'll reload the guns for you."

"But—"

"You've only one good arm. Slide them over."

Ezra frowned, but did as he was told. Frowning, because choices were limited, he lifted the rifle and ducked down, trying to use the window sill as a brace to shoot at the man hiding above the telegraph. The recoil slammed into his right shoulder uncomfortably hard, the barrel sliding sideways.

Damn it, he was missing by a mile!

"First one coming back!" Rachel hissed, just as the remington hit his foot. He smiled, reached down to get it, and almost got his head shot off. Falling to the floor, he stayed there for a minute to get his bearings, listening to the bullets speckling his walls and wondering how much Inez was going to charge him for this.

* * *

JD paused upon seeing the lock had been broken on the back door to the bathhouse, turning to shush the judge when Orrin all but barreled into him. Slowly, he opened the door and peered inside. No one was immediately visible on the first level, though someone could be behind all the hanging curtains.

Guns raised, he headed inside and pointed the weapons up the stairs. Someone was definitely up there. He indicated for the judge to check out the rest of the first floor, and then he quietly made his way up.

He paused at the top landing, drew in a breath, and slipped into the first room facing the street.

A man's back was to him, firing towards the hotel.

"Hey," JD called, as soon as the man paused. He turned, and JD recognized the face of one of the Quinn brothers. "Drop it," JD ordered.

The brother just stared at him, eyes narrowed and lip curled. He made no move to either turn or drop the guns he held.

"I mean it," JD warned.

Quick as a snake, the man was facing him, firing. JD dove to the side, answering with his own twin guns, and somehow managed to clip him in the neck. Gasping like a fish, the Quinn brother collapsed to his knees, dying almost as soon as he was fully prone. JD grimaced and scrambled back to his feet, hating being this close, able to smell the blood….

The judge's shotgun suddenly went off somewhere below, and JD jumped. Turning, he ran back downstairs, nearly slipping on the last few steps in his haste.

He skidded to a halt at the sight of the judge standing over a grizzled looking man, the latter obviously dead.

"Judge?"

"This is…was…Reuben Maxwell," Orrin said, his brow furrowed deeply. "He and his brothers are supposed to be locked up in the jail at Eagle Bend."

JD's eyebrows lifted. "Huh." He shook his head. "Guess that explains how the Quinns and Ayers found out you were here."

* * *

Chris smirked when the man firing at him from above Watson's yelped in pain and fell off the eave, landing with a smack on the top of Watson's porch. He shifted, firing up towards the man atop Digger Dan's.

His gun clicked on empty, and he tucked down to put in more bullets. With his head turned, he caught sight of a muzzle flash from somewhere in the telegraph office. It wasn't hard to see that they were firing down the street at Josiah and probably across the street at Ezra.

Eyes narrowing, he finished and, sucking in a breath, he darted out of his cover and fired on the telegraph office, smiling when he heard another gasp of pain. The man inside disappeared, and Chris dove behind the hanging keg in front of Watson's.

Two down. How many of these guys were there supposed to be again? Seemed to be a hell of a lot more than nine.

He jumped when bullets started to pelt the keg, but he wasn't clear from where. He needed a better angle. A little further down was the checkers table – not the best cover, and already sporting a few holes, but it'd be better than this.

Shooting off a couple of rounds, he ran for the table and upended it—

--but not before fire burst across his arm, feeling like being stabbed by a firebrand. _Damn it_.

Hissing out a pent breath, he checked his arm, grateful to see it was just an ugly graze, and then took out the pain by firing six deadly accurate shots into the chest of the man shooting at him from across the street.

* * *

Still on the floor, Ezra looked over at Rachel still tucked between the door and the dresser; she gestured for the now empty rifle. He sighed, and slid it across. The reloaded colt, he saw, was by his lax left hand. His fingers barely felt it when he reached for it—not good.

Just as Rachel picked the rifle up, the door slammed open, nearly hitting her. Ezra pushed himself up to a sitting position as the same tall man that had knocked Rachel over yesterday walked into the room—one of the Quinn brothers. He laughed when he saw Ezra on the floor, blood soaking into the wood.

"Still think you're gonna make me get on the next stage outta here, gambling man?" he taunted, moving closer so he could point his gun more squarely at Ezra's head.

Ezra just raised his eyebrows, pushing himself to his knees. He shook his head. "No, I said you'd be a dead man if you weren't."

The man laughed. "And what do you say now?" he sneered.

"That you should have listened," Ezra replied, just as Rachel slammed the rifle across the back of the man's head.

Amazingly, he didn't go down, just staggered forward, blinking in confusion. He lurched around, eyes focusing now on Rachel, raising his gun in her direction. She screamed.

And Ezra shot him.

Wide eyed, Rachel just stared as the man crumbled to the floor, dead on Ezra's rug. Ezra found his feet at last, snatched his gunbelt, his coat, and took her arm, getting her out of the room and into the hallway. He shut the door behind them and sighed in relief. When he looked at her again, she had her arms crossed tight, her fear clear.

"We gotta move," he said, as much to himself as her. The world was spinning a little, his aching body wanting to just sit down and not get up.

"Wh…where are we going?" she asked nervously, watching as he stuffed the colt into the back of his pants.

"You're going to join Inez. I'm going to your brother's clinic," Ezra replied. He handed her the Remington. "Hold this."

She did, taking it almost gingerly, and watched as he pulled on his red jacket, wincing when he pulled the sleeve over his left shoulder. It would have to do to hide his wound for now.

"Why are you putting on—?"

"To hide the blood," Ezra wheezed, breathing through the pain. "Can't show any sign of weakness, or they'll take advantage. The less they see, the better."

She nodded, and handed him back the Remington.

"Why my brother's clinic?" she asked. "Can't we dress your wound here?"

Ezra just shook his head, not wanting to tell her the real reason he needed to get to the clinic, for fear of worrying her. Throwing his gunbelt over his good shoulder, he made his way to the stairs and started down them at a good clip. He stumbled when he hit the bottom, falling into the wall, feeling more than a little light-headed; Rachel caught him before he fell all the way to the floor.

"You can't go out there," she said worriedly. "You're too badly hurt."

He shook his head again, this time to clear it. "I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I have to. Now, please, you—"

"You don't! I'm sure—"

"Nathan's in danger!" Ezra admitted finally. "I was shot when I fired at someone trying to break into the clinic. I have to get over there and make sure Nathan and your sisters are alright."

"What?"

"You heard me," Ezra said, shaking off the dizziness and pointing towards the back room of the saloon where he knew Inez would be holed up. "You need to get in there."

Rachel swallowed, and then white knuckled the rifle she was still holding. "I'm going with you."

"Are you kidding? No!"

"Yes! You just told me my family is in danger, and you want me to hide?"

"Yes! Nathan'll kill me if you get hurt. Hell, _I'll_ kill me if you get hurt!"

"You're the one that's hurt! You can barely walk straight. You need me."

"I said I'm fine. Look, this is what I do; it's my job. You have to trust me!"

"But—"

"Damn it, I don't have time for this! Get in there now!"

He realized as soon as he said it, that trying to order her was the absolutely worst thing to do. Her chin lifted, and she lifted the rifle she was still holding, cocking it. She then cracked a tiny smile.

"Alright," she said, "I'll trust you…to stop me from getting killed out there."

Before he could react, she was running to the back of the saloon and unlatching the rear door. _Damn it!_ He ran after her, reaching her side as she pulled it open.

"Wait!" he snapped, pulling her back. Remington in hand, he snuck a peek out the back, looking for shooters. Seeing none, he took a couple of steps outside.

When he wasn't immediately shot down, he checked above, to make sure no one was peering down at him from the backs of the roofs of the boarding house or the laundry.

When he looked back at her, he gave her the best glare he could muster. "You stay low, you stay behind me, and you use the rifle if you see anyone that's not someone you know. Got that?"

She nodded.

He thought about his order, and grimaced, remembering she hadn't met all of his friends yet. "Except, don't shoot anyone dressed in all black. Or wearing the ugliest, god-awful, fringed jacket you've ever seen."

Rachel just smiled weakly. "Not to worry," she said, "I probably couldn't hit the broadside of a barn."

Ezra snorted. "Oh yeah, that makes me feel a lot less worried."

She laughed, a terrified, weak laugh, but still a laugh, and he smiled crookedly.

He really, really hoped he wasn't about to get her killed.

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry, sorry, sorry! I thought I'd posted this chapter two days ago! Heh.

Apologies in advance if the site deletes the section breaks.

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN: THE DETERMINED**

Vin shifted his aim to the shooter on the balcony as the man atop Digger Dan's fell, gut shot, his body sliding down the front of the roof and catching on the gutter. The other shooter ducked behind the sign on the balcony, so Vin started pelting the sign, planning on ripping it to shreds.

He'd seen Ezra's windows, both completely shattered, and he was pretty sure he'd caught sight of someone lying on the floor inside.

If Ezra was dead….

When he ran out of bullets, he pulled out his Mare's Leg and continued to destroy the sign with single minded determination.

* * *

Buck stopped helping Vin when he realized that the other man really didn't need it. After checking to make sure Virginia still breathed, and doing a quick job of tying up Rett Ayers, he climbed back down the ladder and ran down the stairs, intending on going to get Nathan for Virginia.

Heading out the back through the kitchens, he came to a dead halt at the sight of another man in the kitchen, pointing a gun straight at him.

The man blinked, as if as surprised to see Buck as Buck as to see him. Then the man's eyes narrowed.

"What did you do with my grandma, you bastard?" the man asked.

Buck's eyebrows lifted. "Your grandmother?" he asked innocently.

"You heard me. Mrs. Ada Quinn. What did you do with her?"

Buck's eyes slid to the larder, and back. The man's eyebrows arched.

"You put her in there?"

Buck just shrugged. The other man's eyes narrowed again, and he walked over to the larder door. He banged a couple of times with his free hand, but never took his gun off of Buck.

"Grams?" he called. "You in there?"

"Yes," a woman's voice croaked back, soft and difficult to hear. To Buck's ears, it sounded more like a question.

"She's tied up," Buck explained, shrugging again. "She's not hurt, just stuck."

The other man frowned, and he unlatched the door, opening it and let it swing open behind him. "Get over here," he ordered, waving at Buck with the gun. "You're going in there and untying—"

Buck grinned as Mary slammed an iron frying pan down on the back of the man's head, knocking him down as effectively as she had knocked down Sally.

She sighed, brushed back a strand of blonde hair, and arched an eyebrow. "That's two you owe me," she said, nudging the now prone man with her foot.

Buck nodded, still grinning. "Yep," he agreed. "That I do."

* * *

Josiah sighed when he realized no one was shooting at him anymore. Vin (because no one else was that good of a shot) had killed the one on Digger Dan's roof, and now had another man pinned down on the small saloon's balcony. The men shooting at him from the bathhouse had also stopped. And Chris had taken care of the man above Watson's and, presumably, in the telegraph office.

That accounted for at least six different shooters. Assuming the two female members of the families were down for the count (he knew where Mrs. Quinn was, at least), that just left one, right?

Except, it had felt like a hell of a lot more than nine people shooting at them today.

If someone was still out there….

To hell with it. Making sure his guns were fully loaded, he got up and ran across the street to the saloon.

Gunfire exploded around him. Damn it!

He dove through the batwing doors, sliding across the wooden floor, knocking over tables and chairs.

And when he tried to stand, his leg collapsed under him, sending him to the ground in pain.

"Damnation," he swore, grabbing at the wound.

* * *

"Where the hell did he come from?" Chris whispered, shooting up at whomever was atop Virginia's Hotel. Whoever it was, they had nearly mown down Josiah.

* * *

Nathan leapt a mile when the door to the clinic slammed open, and a large, white haired man charged inside, gun pointed straight at Nathan's head, where Nathan had just pulled the bullet out of Leo's back.

"Put that down!" the stranger yelled. "Get away from him!"

"Uncle Stan, no!"

"Shut up, Mike."

"He's helpin' Leo! He'll die if—"

"Shut up, Mike!" The old man swiveled then, catching Leah pointing her gun at Mike. She just blinked. "And you, put that down. Now!"

"Do it, Leah," Nathan said quietly.

She waited a moment, but then nodded, gently placing the gun on the table next to her and raising her hands. She lowered her head then, closing her eyes.

Stan swiveled back around, glaring at Mike. "What the hell is going on?"

"They…Someone shot Leo before we could get in. What could I do? I couldn't let him die!"

"So you gave yourself up to a bunch of coloreds? And you're letting one of 'em work on your cousin? They was probably about to make him worse!"

"No, I…I don't think…."

"You're an idiot, Mike!" And with that, Stan strode back to the doorway, peering out onto the balcony. "Get the gun from that one and get your ass over here. You're standing guard."

Mike grimaced, but did as he was told, walking over to Leah and picking up the gun next to her. "Sorry," he whispered, backing away. He walked over to Stan, his head down.

"You watch them. I take it the judge ain't here after all?"

"No. Just him and his two sisters."

"Damn," the older man spat. "So where's the judge?"

At the question, Stan looked over at Nathan, and then at Esther, who was standing at the head of Leo's bed, her hands holding a bunch of clean bandages. Stan sneered, and, in a few long steps, he grabbed Esther's neck, turning her viciously to face Nathan, his gun against her head. She choked out a gasp of pain.

"Esther!" Leah shouted.

"Let her go!" Nathan demanded.

"Where's the judge and Mary Travis?" Stan demanded, staring hard at Nathan. "Tell me or she dies, and then I'll make the threat again with the other one."

Nathan released a heavy breath. "I—"

"Stop right there!" Mike called out, turning all their heads. The young man was pointing his gun outside, obviously at someone on the balcony. "Put that rifle down! Who are you?"

"Rachel Jackson," came the answer, and Nathan closed his eyes in despair.

"Another sister?" Stan leered. Nathan glared at him. Stan just laughed. "Get her in here, Mike!"

Mike hesitated, but he gestured for Rachel to enter. She appeared in the doorway, her hands empty and raised.

"I'm just trying to find my family," she said, stepping around him and into the clinic. Mike followed her inside, still holding his gun on her, his back to the door.

Stan laughed, stepping away from Esther to approach the newcomer, pointing his gun at Rachel's head. "Damn, healer, you got a lot of sisters! We thought you just had the one."

"One?" Nathan repeated. Rachel sidled over towards Leah, and Stan followed her with his gun.

"Yeah, well, you know, you all kind of look alike," Stan explained, upper lip curling in disdain as he looked again at Nathan by the bed. "Not where the hell is--?"

The crack of a gunstock smashing across the back of someone's head got their attention, and Nathan grinned to see Ezra standing over the now floor bound Mike, pointing his Remington at Stan. Rachel darted the rest of the way to Leah's side, drawing her older sister into a hug and pulling her into the corner.

Stan had immediately matched Ezra's stance with his own, gun pointed at the gambler's head.

For a moment, both men just breathed, guns exactly even, deadly and certain. Then Stan sneered.

"Standoff, tin horn," he jeered. "You think you'll be faster than me?"

Ezra just smiled crookedly. "I think I have an ace in the hole."

Stan snorted. "What the hell does—?" He cut off with a gasp, his eyes widening. Blinking rapidly, he dropped his gun and tried to reach around to his back….

Where one of Nathan's knives was deeply embedded. Nathan pulled another from the brace on his back, ready to throw.

A strangled gurgle emanated from the older Quinn's lips, and he went down hard on his knees. He gasped again, and then fell forward with a heavy thump, shaking the floor.

"Oh God," Mike whispered from where he was half sprawled on the floor, his hand to his head, his eyes locked on his now dead uncle. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…." He didn't move when Ezra kicked the gun away from him and towards Nathan, except to bury his head inside his arms.

"Nice timing, Ez," Nathan said then, smiling slightly as he picked up the gun and headed over to pull his knife free from Stan's back.

"I try," Ezra replied, smiling in return, lowering his gun and backing up, as if to head back outside. Nathan frowned then, noticing a greenish pallor to the man's face.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" Ezra blinked at him a little dazedly, and then smiled some more. "Oh, nothing. Just happy to have returned your last sister to you." He grinned at Rachel, but Rachel only frowned in return. Nathan's frown deepened at that, and he noticed that Ezra was holding his arm funny, pressed to his side as if he'd dislocated it again.

"Are you hurt?"

"I need to get back out there," Ezra replied, his voice shaking slightly. "I think it's almost over, but Mary woefully miscalculated the number of miscreants. The others need me." He backed the rest of the way up, reaching the doorway, his free hand bracing himself on the frame, still smiling too brightly. "You alright watching this one?" He pointed at Mike.

"I—"

"No, stop!" Rachel ordered. "Nathan, he can't go!"

"Nathan will protect you, Miss Jackson," Ezra said then. "You don't need me anymore." He smiled at her. "Good luck."

He disappeared out the door just as Rachel shouted "No!" at him again, but she was too slow. Wheeling around, she pointed at Nathan. "What are you doing? Get after him!"

"What?"

"You heard me! Go after him!"

Nathan hesitated, looking at Leah and then back to Rachel, shaking his head. "But…."

"But what? You have to get him back here!"

"I can't. I can't leave you here like this."

"Why? Because of them?" She gestured at Leo and Mike. "Them we can handle. Go!"

"Rachel, no. It's not that." He gripped his fists. "What if someone else comes?"

"Someone else?"

"They'll be no one here to protect you."

Rachel's eyes widened, and then her hands found her hips. "You think we need you to protect _us_?"

"Yeah, I'm—"

"Oh, don't you dare, Nathan Jackson!" Rachel snapped. "We're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much. We've been doing it for a very long time, through times and places a hell of a lot scarier than this!"

"But—"

"Enough! Your friend who just left, the one who saved your life and mine, is going to bleed out if you don't stop him! And your other friends need your help. They're pinned down and hurt and you're hiding in here! That's not the brother we came to find—Dad told us we were coming to find a hero! So, act like one!"

"She's right," Esther affirmed, crossing her arms angrily. "You have a job to do."

Nathan was thoroughly confused now. He looked down at Mike, still whimpering on the floor, holding his head. "What about--?"

"Don't use him as an excuse," Rachel stated firmly. "He'll be just fine, won't you?" She picked up the gun Mike was using from the floor, tossed it to Nathan, and knelt down next to the boy. "Put your hands behind your back so we can tie 'em." Sniffling, beaten, Mike did as he was told.

Meanwhile, Esther had, in imitation of her older sister, picked up Stan's gun and was holding it on Mike. Leah tossed Rachel a ball of twine.

Catching it, Rachel's eyebrows lifted at Nathan. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded.

Nathan frowned. "I can't just—"

"Nathan, stop it," Leah said then. "She's right. Your friend who just left was barely standing, even I could see that. Get after him now, or one of us will go in your place."

"Nathan," Esther added. "Please. Your place ain't here; it's out there."

Nathan stared at the three of them, feeling suddenly very small under their gazes.

Esther suddenly threw a roll of bandages at him. "Now, you idiot!"

Nathan gasped, and, suddenly, grinned. "I love you," he said, and then took off for the outside after Ezra.

* * *

"Stop! Stop firing!" the man on Digger Dan's balcony screamed, sounding terrified. Vin pursed his lips, but let up. There was barely a foot of sign left.

"You give up?" Vin shouted.

"Yeah! Hell, yeah!"

"Stand up and throw your guns away!"

A familiar younger man stood up, and Vin's eyes narrowed upon seeing him for the first time. Danny Maxwell. Well, hell. That explained some things. Danny held up his rifle and pistol and, making a show of it, tossed them both over the edge of the balcony.

"Climb down," Vin ordered then, "And then walk down the street to the jail."

Danny sighed, but he climbed over the banister. When he put his weight on it to jump down, though, the whole thing splintered and collapsed, sending him to the ground in a clutter of wood and splinters. He landed hard, chunks of wood hitting him, and he ended up lying on his side, groaning.

"I got him," JD's voice called, and the young sheriff jogged out into the street from the bathhouse, heading over to cover Danny.

Vin sighed, and stood up. He glanced over to where Chris was still in a fight with someone or someones firing down at him from Virginia's Hotel.

* * *

Josiah had found his feet, and had limped over to the saloon doors, one hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his thigh. He spotted JD out in the street in front of Digger Dan's, also just watching, and Vin atop the big hotel opposite, standing like a sentry atop the tallest building in town.

Unneeded, he turned and hobbled towards the stairs.

* * *

Nathan caught up with Ezra at the top of the stairs heading down. It wasn't hard—Ezra had apparently crumpled just a few stairs down, unable to go any farther, his right hand gripping onto the banister like a lifeline. He was breathing hard, his skin nearly translucent, and his brow covered in sweat.

"I, um…" Ezra swallowed, his eyes glazed from pain. "I think I'm in trouble…."

"Yeah. I know. Come on," he encouraged, getting an arm under Ezra and propping him up. Half carrying his friend, he pulled him back up to the top of the balcony, and then propped Ezra against the side wall of the clinic, which was in shadow. He lifted the jacket, frowning deeply at the amount of blood soaking the man's shoulder and side. He shook his head and knelt to look Ezra right in the eyes.

"Stay there until I come back. Try not to do anything else stupid like bleeding out, alright?" He reached up and banged on the wooden wall. "Rach! Ez's out here! Can you come get him?" At her shouted affirmative, he looked down again at his friend.

Ezra blinked up at him. "Where…where are you going?"

Nathan just smiled. "Where I'm supposed to be."

Patting Ezra on top of his head, he turned and ran down the steps. When he hit the bottom, he ran around the back of the livery and kept going until he reached the back of Virginia's hotel. And almost ran into Buck coming from the other direction.

"Nate?"

"Hey," Nathan answered, grinning. He tilted his head at the back door of Virginia's. "Want to finish this?"

Buck smirked. "Lead the way."

Nathan unlatched the back door, and, gun raised, he pointed inside. Inside the kitchens, he caught sight of big Virginia Holloway herself peeking her head out from the store room. Her eyes widened, and then she smiled. Nathan smiled back.

"Two," she whispered, and pointed upstairs. "Rented the front rooms on the second floor. I think one of them's on the roof."

Nathan gave her a thumbs up, and then gestured Buck to follow him in.

Tiptoeing quietly to the front, he caught sight of Chris through the front doors, shooting up at the second floor from the opposite side of the street. Reaching the plain stairs, he crept slowly up them, hoping that the gunfire was loud enough to cover the creaking floor boards. Virginia's was not as nice as the main hotel, and the quality of it was evident from the lack of useful carpeting.

When he reached the second floor, he studied the doors to the two second floor front rooms.

Buck, still right behind him, tapped his shoulder. When Nathan turned, Buck pointed to himself and then at the two rooms, then he pointed at Nate and pointed up at the roof.

Nathan nodded, and, leaving Buck to it, went to climb the stairs up to the roof.

* * *

Buck kicked open the first door, the one behind which the gunfire was the loudest, and pointed his gun at the back of the man standing there.

"That's enough," Buck snarled.

The man had frozen. At Buck's voice, he turned, and Buck gasped. Frank Elliot, Virginia's father, thinner but clearly just as evil as ever, stared back.

"You're supposed to be in prison," Buck whispered.

Frank smiled coldly. "I got out," he answered simply.

Buck's jaw tensed, but he didn't lower his aim. It was actually taking a lot of his strength not to pull the trigger, because now he had a much better idea of how Virginia had gotten caught up in all of this.

"Drop it," he hissed.

Frank stared at him for a moment, and then, with clear reluctance, he did so and raised his hands.

"This isn't the end of it," Frank growled.

"I don't know," Buck snarled. "I'm thinking this time the jury won't be swayed by your wife and daughter's tears, and will do what he should have done first time around."

Frank sneered. "We'll see."

"Oh, when they find out how you involved Virginia," Buck spat, "I'm pretty sure."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she got shot because of you, you son of a bitch."

Frank blinked. "What?"

"Keep your hands raised, Mr. Elliot."

The former real estate broker blinked some more, and turned slightly, to look out the window. Buck was able to see over his shoulder, enough to see Chris standing up now, pointing his weapon up at the window, clearly able to see Frank's face for the first time. Chris's eyes widened briefly before narrowing to near slits.

Frank stared back at the gunslinger, and then once more at Buck. He sighed, and lifted his chin.

"Is, uh…Is she alright?" he asked.

"No thanks to you, but yeah, she should live."

Frank nodded stiffly, and then moved forward, his hands fully raised once more, and let Buck escort him out of the room.

* * *

Josiah blinked at the stranger on Ezra's floor, and then at the blood over by the two destroyed windows, none of which came from the stranger. But all he cared about was that there was no Ezra.

Sighing, he turned and, swearing slightly at the fact that he had come all the way up here on a bum leg for no good reason, he headed back downstairs.

* * *

Nathan reached the top floor at the same time as someone was running down the roof-stairs in obvious panic, only to come to a halt about five feet from where Nathan was now pointing his gun at him.

At the sight, the man's eyes widened, and he whipped around and ran back up the stairs to the roof.

"Hey! Stop!" Nathan yelled, running after him up the stairs. He hit the roof at a run, and caught sight of the stranger leaping to the next roof, heading in the direction of the livery. "Stop," Nathan shouted, reaching the edge of the Virginia Hotel's roof, "or I'll shoot!"

When the man didn't immediately stop, scrambling across the shingles and looking like he was going to jump to the next roof, Nathan shot over his head.

The man skidded to a halt, his back to Nathan, his hands raised. Slowly, he turned, his eyes still too wide.

"Don't!" he begged. "Please!"

"Drop your rifle!"

"No! You'll shoot me!"

"I'll shoot you if you don't!"

"I—"

"Drop it! Now!"

The man's eyes narrowed then, and he shook his head. He started backing up slowly. "Ha! You're too far away! You can't hit me from there with that little gun! But I can shoot you with this rifle, not a problem!"

"You really want to try me?"

The man hesitated, sucked in a breath, and then swung his rifle down to shoot.

The world around Nathan exploded with gunfire at the same time as he fired, and the stranger jerked like a puppet, swinging in all directions.

When he fell, as boneless as a ragdoll, Nathan breathed out heavily and looked around. He caught sight of Ezra still on the balcony of the clinic, Rachel standing behind him, helping to brace the gambler's rifle. He also spotted Chris lowering his guns on the street below, the man in black nodding up at him. JD was also down there, lowering his twin pistols, and Josiah was watching from the doors of the saloon. And, turning the rest of the way, he saw Vin grinning and lowering his own rifle. Vin saluted him.

Nathan grinned and saluted him back.

Damn, he loved his friends.

* * *

TBC….


	11. Chapter 11

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE INJURED **

Chris nodded to Leah as he walked into Nathan's clinic. She was sitting at the desk, taking notes on something in the candlelight. She glanced up at him, her gaze curious.

"Leah," he greeted, closing the clinic door behind him.

"Mr. Larabee."

"You doing alright?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "Uh…" She seemed to have to consider that for a moment, her gaze studying. After a moment, she nodded. "Yes. I'm well, thank you."

"Good." He shifted his gaze to where Ezra was sleeping fitfully on the bed, his frown deepening at the sight.

"Is it hurting?" Leah asked then. Momentarily confused, he blinked at her, and she gestured to his arm.

"Oh." He smiled then, touching the bandage he could feel under his shirt on his arm. "No, it's fine. Thank you for your help." He lowered his hand. "I can see where Nathan learned his skills."

She nodded, and smiled. "It's always good to be needed."

Chris couldn't help but smile at the echo of something Nathan had said to him so long ago.

A creak turned his attention to the door to the back room, and he arched an eyebrow at Josiah hobbling in on a crutch. When he left here a couple of hours ago, Chris was sure he'd heard Nathan specifically telling Josiah he wasn't supposed to be on his feet for at least a day.

"Chris," Josiah greeted, giving him a nod as he moved across to the bed where Ezra was fast asleep. "You get 'em all?" he asked, as he sat down on the empty side of the mattress.

"Reckon so."

"How many altogether?"

Chris frowned. "Counting the women, eighteen."

"Eighteen," Josiah muttered, shaking his head. "Felt like more." He leaned back against the headboard and lifted his legs onto the mattress, crossing one over the over. He was wearing thin breeches, but it was easy to see the thick bandages wrapped around one thigh—it made one leg look grotesquely larger than the other. Next to him, Ezra never stirred. Josiah glanced at him, pain creasing his face. "Felt like almost too many," he added softly.

Chris cleared his throat. "So," he asked slowly, "you doing okay?"

"Me? Oh, I'll be fine." Josiah gestured to his leg, and forced a smile. "Just another scar to add to the collection I've earned since moving to our fair town."

Chris snorted. "Yeah," he said, feeling the bandage wrapped around his upper arm again, "it's getting to be a pretty big collection."

"Yeah," Josiah said. "Though, these days, I find I don't really mind them as much." He lowered his eyes. "Almost as if every new scar I get on the outside seems to lessen the ones I have in here." He tapped his head, and then he shrugged. "If that makes sense."

Chris smiled softly. "I know what you mean."

Josiah returned the smile, and then looked down at Ezra, the smile fading. "I don't think he'd agree."

Chris shrugged. "He has his scars in there too, Josiah. He just hides them better than most."

Josiah frowned at that, which wasn't surprising. Chris tilted his head, and moved closer to the bed to better see Ezra better. Bandages ran across his chest and over his shoulder, and there was a small bandage on his head as well. Beneath it, his skin was nearly white, except for the bright red cheeks.

Chris couldn't not frown at the obvious sign of fever—Nathan had told him earlier that if Ezra could fight off the infection, he would be fine, but it was a big "if." He'd lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much. It might have made him too weak to survive.

Damned fool. He'd waited too long to get help. Not that it was his fault, but….

He sighed, mentally shaking himself from those sorts of thoughts.

"He woken at all?"

Josiah's frown deepened, and he gently rested a hand on Ezra's forehead, brushing back his hair with his fingers. "No. And his fever's been rising steadily. Nathan…" Josiah swallowed. "Nathan trusts him to be alright, says he's too stubborn to die, but….I'd feel better if he'd wake."

"He needs his sleep," Leah offered softly, walking over to stand next to Chris. "He lost a lot of blood. The sleep will heal him."

Josiah grimaced. "I know, I just…."

"You worry," Leah finished.

Josiah smiled at her, and then sighed. With what looked like deliberate effort, he lifted his hand from Ezra's forehead and reached for a book on the nightstand.

"You should sleep as well," Leah noted gently, smiling at the Preacher. She glanced askance at Chris. "As should you. A graze is not something to trifle with."

Chris shrugged lightly, and looked again at Josiah. The former preacher had opened the book and seemed to be reading, as if he hadn't heard her very sound advice. Alright then.

"I'll see you in the morning, preacher," Chris offered. Josiah blinked and looked up.

"What? Oh." He smiled. "Of course. Good night, Chris. Sleep well."

Chris just nodded and, indicating that Leah follow him, he turned and headed towards the door to the outside. Leah walked with him.

One hand on the latch, Chris stopped and gestured towards Josiah. "He won't sleep until Ezra wakes up," he whispered in explanation, keeping his voice low so Josiah wouldn't hear. "But I know that Nathan sometimes slips him something…."

Leah just nodded. "I'll check the cupboards." She cocked her head, studying him. "What about yourself?"

"I'm working on it."

She watched him a moment, examining him, and then nodded again. "And the others?"

Chris just shrugged. "I'll try to send Nathan back up here soon. We put the wounded in the church, and he's been tending to them all, insisting he doesn't need rest. Maybe you can convince him to take a break. He's already done all he can do for those people, and I'd like him to sleep, if he can. He hasn't been heeding me, though."

Leah smiled, a truly genuine smile, that made her look very pretty. "If he won't listen to you, Mr. Larabee, I guarantee he won't listen to me either."

Chris sighed then, and then smiled. "I was just thinking family might have more sway."

"No one rests when their family is hurt," Leah replied.

Chris frowned slightly, not understanding that. "One of you is hurt?"

Leah just smiled. "No. We're fine." She touched his arm lightly. "It'll be alright, Mr. Larabee. I promise."

Chris tilted his head, still confused, but, after a moment, he decided to let it go. It would probably all make sense when his head was clearer, which it wasn't right now, having been up for far too long. Tipping his head to Leah in farewell, he opened the door, letting in the cool night air.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," she answered softly as he left.

* * *

The church was full of bodies, both alive and dead, being watched over by Buck and Vin, both of whom carried an air of menace that not even a rabid dog could match. And Chris couldn't blame them. The only way he was maintaining any sort of calm as he walked through the room was by refusing to look any of these bastards in the face and keeping a hand on his gun at all times.

Only four of the men who had attacked the town were unharmed, chained to the far wall, all looking miserable. One was a kid, couldn't have been older than sixteen, named Mike. Another was Danny Maxwell. The third was Rett Ayers. The last—

—was Frank Elliot.

Since being captured by Buck, the former land-broker hadn't made a sound. Chris stared down at him a minute, daring the old man to look up, but Frank never did. It wasn't a sign that he was beaten—it was a sign that Frank Elliot couldn't be bothered. Two years in the Yuma State Prison had done nothing to lessen the man's natural arrogance.

His daughter Virginia, along with old Ada Quinn and Sally Ayers, were being tended to in the back room by Nathan, with a couple of townsfolk standing guard.

When Chris had questioned her a little while ago, she had broken down almost immediately, unraveling the story of not only how she had gotten involved, but how the whole entire thing had come about.

Turned out, Virginia had met Rett Ayers while on a trip to visit her aunt in the Ayers' home town, a town just south of Greeley. It hadn't been long after Rett's father had been hanged, and the young man was still spinning with anger and misery over the death. For Virginia, it was the first time she had found in someone a sort of kinship, and that kinship had turned into more.

Eventually, it had turned into a plan for revenge.

In return for Rett busting Virginia's father out of jail (whom Virginia was sure was innocent—no matter what Billy Travis thought he saw), Virginia had agreed to help Rett locate other like-minded people who were looking for a way to stop Travis from hanging anyone else. It's not that Virginia was against hangings per se, but she knew what it meant to have someone ripped away from you, and she could only imagine the horror if that person could never come back. And what if some of them had been innocent?

She hadn't wanted anyone killed though. Maybe just scared, or threatened. But once it started, she didn't know how to stop it.

And her father hadn't wanted to stop it either.

He'd been broken out by the Ayers two days ago, and they had hidden him in Eagle Bend. Frank Elliot had been the one to break the Maxwells out of jail, after seeing Staines lock them up. After that, they'd all met up with the Quinns hiding out at the Mitchell ranch the next day…

Chris actually felt he owed Staines an apology, at least in his head. He'd pretty much assumed that Staines had deliberately let the Maxwells go. Turned out, Staines had been nearly killed in the escape, and one of his deputies was.

Still didn't mean Chris liked him.

Either way, Frank had surprised his daughter by showing up in town this afternoon, and taking part in trying to take the judge (and the rest of the seven) down.

All that had resulted was a greater likelihood that, this time, Frank Elliot really would hang, and his daughter would be going to prison for her part in the whole thing.

Still better than the Ayers and the Quinns. Of the former, only Rett Ayers and Sally were still alive. Of the Quinns, Ada Quinn had lost her son and all of her grandchildren but three, and she already swore she wasn't going to speak to young Michael ever again for his supposed betrayal—horrible woman. Danny still had Ben, who was going to lose his leg, but not his life. His other brother, Rueben, had been killed by the judge.

All in all, it was a lot of death. Eight men were lying under sheets at the undertakers, to be buried tomorrow in the town's boot hill. Six more were lying injured, a couple of them unlikely to survive the night.

Chris only took comfort in the fact that, at least right now, none of the men at the undertakers where his, or anyone else he cared about.

He looked up when Nathan appeared in the door leading to the back, wiping his hands off with a clean cloth. The healer looked tired, his back bowed as he entered the main part of the church, winding between the hurt and dead to reach Chris's side.

Chris bobbed his head in greeting.

"Hey," Nathan replied. He slapped the cloth he was using across his shoulder and placed his hands on his hips. "You been up to the clinic?"

"Yeah. Josiah's fine. Ezra's sleeping."

"And Leah?"

Chris smiled softly. "Is as smart as her brother."

Nathan snorted. "Smarter."

"Where are your other two sisters?" Chris asked. "Leah said something about one being hurt. Are they okay?"

"Esther is sleeping back in the saloon. Excitement was a lot for her, but she'll be fine." Nathan shrugged. "Rachel's watching over her."

"Her cough still bad?"

"Yeah." Nathan grimaced. "Not sure if I can cure it."

Chris clasped the other man's arm briefly, and then let go. "You will."

Nathan smiled slightly.

Then he asked, "So what's next?"

Chris shrugged. "Going to go check on the judge and Mary."

"They heard about Evie and Billy yet?"

Chris shook his head. "Not yet. Mary's not taking that too well."

Nathan frowned. "I can imagine." He looked around the room. "What about this mangy group?" he asked.

"The judge wired Santa Fe for a couple of prison wagons and some deputy marshals to act as guards. Any luck, we'll only have to struggle against killing them all for a couple of days."

"Trial's not going to be here?"

"Can't be in Travis's circuit. Someone else needs to preside, so it's going somewhere else. I'll testify, and maybe Vin and Mary. The rest of you can stay here." Chris frowned then, thinking about that. He gave Nathan a sidelong glance. "Assuming, of course, that you _are_ staying here."

Nathan didn't reply, he just looked around the room, as if he hadn't heard the implied question.

Chris pursed his lips and looked down at the floor.

"I should go check on Ezra," Nathan said finally.

"Probably should. Josiah said something about his fever rising. He's worried."

Nathan frowned. "Not good news, but not surprising."

"Keep me informed?"

"Course."

Chris inclined his head in farewell, and then walked away, trying not to fall too deeply under the darkness that was creeping over his soul.

* * *

Chris knocked on the door to Mary and her father-in-law's suite in the hotel.

"Who is it?" JD's voice answered.

"Chris."

When the door opened, he was surprised to see a beaming Mary grinning back at him. Tears were running down her face, but there was no questioning that they were tears of happiness.

"Mary?"

"Chris!" She grabbed his hand and drew him inside, and immediately gestured to someone standing just inside the door. "We just received word from Santa Fe."

Chris's eyebrows lifted, and he inclined his head to Mr. Kelly, the telegraph operator, standing next to JD and the judge. Kelly, for his part, gave a shrug. The judge was shaking Kelly's hand, but he stepped forward to take Chris's hand as well, shaking it hard and grinning as wide as Mary.

"The news is good, then?" Chris asked, almost unnecessarily.

"The message is from Marshal Dailey," Orrin replied, handing Chris the yellow telegram to read. "They've captured the Franks. No one was even injured. Evie and Billy are safe and well."

"They're sending help too," JD added.

Chris scanned the paper as the telegraph operator quietly left. It informed that several deputies—who had been dispatched after Marshal Barnes was killed in Flat Rock—should arrive in Four Corners tomorrow to escort the judge home.

"I'm going to go with them," Mary said then. "For a few days, to see Billy." She smiled ruefully. "It's not as though I could put out a newspaper."

Chris nodded, and handed the telegram back. "Good news."

"Great news," Mary said. "I have been so sick with worry, that…." She didn't finish, just shook her head. Chris smiled.

"Chris?" JD asked softly, sounding very tired. "Mind if I go get a drink from downstairs…?"

Chris just nodded, and returned his attention to Mary and the judge as JD left.

"I'm very glad for you, Mary," he said, though, right now, he found it hard to meet her level of happiness. It was the same reason, he suspected, that JD had wanted a break.

Her smile faded a little; she was too sharp not to guess the reason for his reticence. And she wasn't the only one. Orrin's expression was somber.

"How is Standish?" he asked seriously.

Chris gave a small shrug, looking down. "Not sure yet."

The judge's countenance darkened. "I am sorry."

Chris frowned slightly. "It's not your fault."

"No, I…" the judge frowned. "I am not seeking sympathy. I am sorry because I think highly of him. All of you boys…the debt I owe you is very large." He lifted his head proudly. "The best decision I ever made was to ask you to take care of this town. All of you. JD, in particular—he has grown a great deal; I know I owe him my life for how well he got us through this. And tell Standish, if I am not here when he wakes up, he'll always have a friend in me, no matter what. Will you do that?"

Chris inclined his head, and smiled wryly. "You may regret that."

The judge snorted a laugh. "Believe me," he said, "after these last few days, the only thing I regret is not having told him, or the rest of you, that already."

Chris ducked his head, and took a step back. "I'll let them know. Of course…" He gave a shrug. "Having you as a friend is always more useful if you plan on staying a judge."

Orrin's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Subtle."

Chris shrugged again. "Just saying, it'd be nice to know what you're planning."

"I'm planning…." Orrin glanced at Mary, who had crossed her arms and was actually tapping her foot. He smiled at Chris. "I'm planning on doing whatever my daughter-in-law tells me to do."

Mary smiled, and took her father-in-law's arm, hugging it. She looked at Chris. "Thank you again," she said. "For everything."

He gave one more nod, and then backed up to the door. "I assume you'll be off as soon as the deputies arrive?"

"They should be here mid-morning," the judge said. "I imagine we'll be out of here before noon."

"I'll make sure someone sees you off."

Mary just smiled, and the judge nodded as Chris turned to leave.

"Chris?" the judge called, turning Chris's head.

"Yeah?"

The other man smiled crookedly. "Do me one more a favor? Something else for Standish when he wakes up—can you tell him thank you from me," his eyes sparkled as they narrowed, "for the 'artifice'."

Chris laughed.

* * *

Buck reached for the gun on his as the church doors opened, but he soon relaxed upon seeing Leah Jackson quietly enter the large room. She shut the doors softly behind her, and did a quick study of the room. When she spotted him, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and made her way across to where he was sitting.

"Hello, Mr. Wilmington," she said, smiling lightly.

"Leah," he tried to smile, but it didn't last. He was too worn down. "Can I help you?"

She shook her head. "I have convinced Nathan to spend some time in the clinic, getting some rest."

"Thank God," Buck breathed. "He needed it. I was on the verge of carrying him up there myself."

Her smile grew crooked with amusement, and she nodded. "In return, I promised to come down here and see if anyone here needs anything." Her gaze drifted across the sleeping room, taking in the injured. "Seems peaceful."

Buck frowned. "Peaceful as a room of sleeping mountain lions," he muttered.

She smiled at that. "Wounded and chained ones at that."

"The most dangerous kind."

She nodded. "I understand there are also three women in the back, one of whom is quite badly wounded." She pointed towards the door on the side. "Is that the way there?"

Buck's eyes dropped to his knees, feeling a little like he'd been punched.

"Are you alright?" Leah asked. He looked up, to see her watching him with genuine concern.

He tried another smile, but this one lasted even less than the first one. His gaze lowered again, and he nodded.

"I'm fine."

Even with seeing her, he could sense her frown. She hovered a moment longer, and then took a step to leave. But He didn't want her to—he didn't want to be alone.

"Wait, um…" He thought quickly. "How are Josiah and Ez?"

She tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. "Mr. Sanchez will be fine. Although," she shrugged, "he would be better if he would rest, but…."

Buck's chest tightened. "Ez is getting worse," he finished.

She nodded, and Buck covered his face with his hand.

After a moment, he felt her settled down next to him on the pew.

For a long time, she did nothing but sit there, keeping him company.

It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him.

A door creaked, and Buck looked up in time to see Vin closing the door to the back room behind him. Tanner spotted them both on the pew and meandered over, his eyes scanning the prisoners as he did so.

When he reached them he smiled, and held a hand out to Leah.

"You must be Nathan's sister, Leah. I'm Vin Tanner."

"Oh," Buck stammered, "I'm sorry. I'd forgotten you two haven't met yet."

"S'alright," Vin said, still smiling. "It's my own fault. I figured I'd meet you when I went up to check on Josiah and Ez, but if you're here, that works just as well."

Leah stood and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She rested her hands on her hips. "You just come from checking on the women in back?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How are they doing?"

Vin tilted his head, giving Buck a look before answering. "They should all be fine. The old woman's still nasty, the Ayers girl is being surly, and..." He hesitated, eyes pinching slightly.

"And Virginia?" Buck asked, knowing he sounded desperate.

Vin's eyes narrowed at his tone, annoyance flashing across his features. "Virginia tried to kill you, Buck. She had my Mare's Leg pointed straight at you, her finger on the trigger, ready to blow your head off. The only thing you should be worried about with her is that she ain't about to do it again."

Buck's brow furrowed, and he looked away.

"She's the one that was shot in the shoulder," Leah said in understanding.

"Yes, ma'am," Vin said, eyeing Buck. "But she'll be fine. She's mostly just depressed now."

"I shot her," Buck said, feeling the need to confess his sin. "I shot a woman," he repeated, feeling sick.

"Before she could kill you," Leah clarified.

"And she would've," Vin stated firmly, still staring hard at Buck. "I was there, Buck. I saw her face. You didn't have a choice."

"I had a choice," Buck mumbled. "There's always a choice."

Quick as a snake, Vin had his shoulder, gripping hard and shoving Buck back into the pew. "Now you listen to me! I've been watching you stewin' on this all night, and I'm getting sick of it. When the choice is shoot first or be killed, you always shoot first. You understand me? Women can kill as easy as men. Gun don't care who pulls the trigger."

Buck's eyes burned. "I should've found another way," he hissed.

"You didn't have time."

"I—"

"I know you think they're all innocent, Bucklin, that they all need treating like fine china, but they ain't. Ella weren't. Ma Nichols weren't. Katie weren't. And Virginia ain't." Vin was right in his face now. "You gotta stop hating on yourself for this. She could've given up, but she didn't. You _didn't_ _have_ _a choice_."

Buck pushed Vin's hand off his shoulder roughly, and looked down at his lap.

Vin backed up, crossing his arms. "Fine. But you're not making me regret that you're alive, and she's trussed and going to prison. You get me?"

Buck still didn't look up. Vin huffed and backed up.

"Damned fool," he said. He turned to Leah. "Sorry for the display, ma'am. Emotions're running kinda deep round here tonight." He glared again at Buck, and then tipped his hat in farewell to Leah. "It was nice to meet you."

"You as well," Leah answered.

With one last exasperated look at Buck, Vin stormed off, heading towards the main doors and shoving them open with both hands, letting in the cold night air as he disappeared into the night.

Buck covered rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

Leah sat down again. The sound of someone kicking the wooden steps extremely hard echoed in from outside.

"He's not very happy with you," she noted.

Buck just snorted.

"So," she asked quietly, "who is she?"

He swallowed, sighed, and looked down at his knees again.

"Just a kid," he answered honestly. "A sweet kid." He turned his gaze to Frank Elliot, leaning against the far wall, imputing as much hatred into his gaze as he could. "With a sick bastard of a father."

Leah had followed his gaze. "Him?"

"He murdered Mary Travis' husband three years ago, and tried to murder her little boy, all to make a little more money swindling people out of their lands." He shook his head, frowning and looking at his hands again. "Virginia didn't want to believe it. She hated all of us for not defending him, believing he was innocent."

Leah frowned slightly. "That must have been hard for her."

Buck nodded. "I should've found a way to make it better for her," Buck whispered. "I knew she and her ma were hurtin'. Elliot left them with nothing. With nowhere to go, Virginia's mom couldn't leave here. Instead, she spent everything she had to get Virginia out of town, to get her into college back east. For what good it did. Every time Virginia came back to visit, to this place where her father…." Buck shook his head again. "Must've been hell for her."

Leah watched him, her eyes soft. Buck released a shaky breath.

"I should've done something…I should've…I would never…." He flailed his hand, as if he could grab whatever it was that he was missing. "When she pointed that gun at me today, I should've let her—"

"No." Gently, Leah took his hand in hers, and laid it to rest. "You shouldn't have."

"But—"

"I see who you are now, Mr. Wilmington," she said softly, her eyes intent. "I understand now why the women in this town trust you. Why my brother loves you so. Why Mr. Tanner is so frustrated with you." Her hand gripped his tightly. "Listen to me. This was not of your making, and you could not have unraveled it. If anything, you saved that girl's life today, when you shot her in the shoulder before she could fire. If she had killed you, it would have destroyed her."

He looked at her, and found only honesty looking back.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Because I know a little about death and revenge," she replied softly. "And what it gets you." She looked down at his hand in hers. "About choices made and regretted."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. When she looked at him again, her eyes were kind.

"You should go talk to her. I get the feeling that you haven't yet."

Buck grimaced.

"Trust me," Leah said then. "If she is what you say—an innocent—then she will be wanting to talk to you as badly as I think you want to talk to her."

"But—"

"I know of what I speak," she reiterated. "Please. Go now, for her sake as well as yours."

He watched her for a minute longer, and then nodded. Standing, he blew the air out of his cheeks, and tilted his head towards the front doors.

"Should get Vin back in here to watch this lot."

She nodded, and stood as well. "I'll fetch him. You go ahead."

He smiled weakly, and then drew in a deep breath. As soon as Leah was near the front, her voice calling for Vin to come back inside, he was at the door to the back and opening it.

The hall was quiet, and the small back room was almost deathly still.

It was only three steps to the threshold, but they felt like miles.

Pushing the door open, he took in the three occupants. Ada Quinn was sitting straight-backed in a chair, her arms crossed, glaring out a window. Sally Ayers was sleeping on Josiah's cot, her face a mess of bruises. Virginia was sitting at Sally's feet, her back to the wall, her arm in a sling. She was looking at her feet outstretched on the mattress.

Virgil Watson was watching over them, a rifle across his arms. He gripped the gunstock upon seeing Buck in the door, and then relaxed upon recognizing. Buck gave him a smile.

"Hey Buck," Virgil said.

"Virgil."

Virginia had looked up at his name, and was staring at him wide eyed.

"I, um…" Buck frowned. "I was hoping to talk to Virginia."

Virgil arched an eyebrow, and looked at the young lady. Virginia looked back, and, without a word, stood up. Ada Quinn had transferred her glare to them both, and Buck could feel the weight of it boring into his back as he escorted Virginia back into the hall. He shut the door to the room behind them, so Ada's basilisk-like stare would be cut off.

Virginia crossed her arms as best she could, almost as if she were trying to hold herself together. She turned and faced him in the dim light, her eyes glistening.

"Virginia," Buck began, "I—"

"I am so sorry," she interrupted, her voice breaking. "Buck, I am so, so, sorry. Can you ever forgive me?" A sob erupted from her throat. "I never….Buck, if I had shot you, I don't what I would have done."

Buck blinked, surprised. "Virginia, no, I'm trying to apologize to you."

She looked up, her eyes awash with tears. "What? Why?"

"For…." He swallowed, and waved at her shoulder, "for that."

"This?" she repeated, touching her shoulder. "Are you kidding?" Tears ran down her face, and her voice shook. "No, Buck. I deserve so much worse. I wish you had killed me."

He frowned. "Virginia, no…."

"Please," she begged. "Please forgive me."

She buried her face in her hands, crying so hard, she looked like she was having a hard time breathing. Almost unwittingly, he had his arms around her, and she pressed her head into his chest.

And for a long time, until she was almost asleep in his arms, he just held onto her.

* * *

True to the telegram, six deputy marshals rode into town the next morning. Three rode out with the judge and Mary, the others stuck around to wait for the prison wagon. By the following day, the dead were all buried, the prisoners loaded onto the wagons and taken out of town.

Chris stood on the boardwalk, watching the dust trail from the wagons fade in the distance, his arms crossed.

After a while, he turned his attention to the town, watching as people walked up and down the boardwalk, patronizing the shops, getting drinks in the saloon, and otherwise going about their days. A few passed him by, and he tipped his hat to their quiet greetings. No one actually smiled, which he appreciated. There was a subdued air to the town, as if, even with the immediate threat gone, things still weren't quite right.

He caught sight of Buck walking out of the saloon, the tall man keeping his head down, checking his gun. When he did look up, he spotted Chris watching him, and tilted his head. Chris gave a nod. Buck saluted and, holstering his weapon, headed towards the livery.

Chris was about to look away when he saw Buck stop in the middle of the street, his attention on the second floor of the livery. Chris stepped off the boardwalk and looked up as well.

Nathan was standing on the balcony, a huge smile on his weary face. When he saw he had Chris's eye as well, he gave a nod.

Chris grinned as Buck whooped with glee.

* * *

Only one more chapter to go! It'll be up tomorrow (Sunday).


	12. Chapter 12

Last chapter!

**BLOOD AND WATER  
By TIPPER**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FAMILY**

Nathan looked up as Leah and Esther each carried trays into Ezra's room above the saloon, where Buck, Vin and he were all hard at work, cleaning up the mess and replacing the windows. Esther was carrying glasses of beer, while Leah had food. Nathan grinned in welcome.

"We thought you could use some sustenance," Esther said airily, handing out the beers. Buck grinned, taking his with a bright smile.

"I do love me some sustenance," Buck said, winking at her. "Especially when it comes with beer and food."

Esther blushed. "Mind your manners there, Buck," she snapped, hitting him on the arm. "My sister wouldn't approve."

"Oh, I don't know," Leah said, handing her brother a sandwich and smiling lightly. "A little flattery is always a nice thing." She arched an eyebrow at Nathan, and his eyebrows lifted in return. She winked at him, and handed a sandwich to Vin. Nathan blinked in surprise.

"How goes it?" Esther asked, stepping back to look around the destroyed room. Nathan shut his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to refocus his attention on the work at hand. The room was cleaner than when Nathan first saw it—he'd come up here to fetch some clean clothes for Ezra—and had wondered how anyone had survived in here. It looked like a bomb went off.

Now, after spending all morning working on it with Buck and Vin, it just looked like a smaller bomb had gone off.

"Windows'll be in by today," Vin answered for them all, his mouth full of food. "And Mrs. Potter has some fabric we figure'll work for curtains. It kinda looks like what he had before. I'm going to take a stab at putting 'em together later. As for that…" He waved a hand at the bureau on the far wall, which looked about a breath away from falling to pieces. "Ezra'll probably have to order another."

"Shame," Leah noted, touching the bureau. "It was a pretty piece of furniture."

"We still got the walls to finish too," Nathan noted, still watching his oldest sister with some bemusement. She was studying the walls, obviously frowning at the devastation. They weren't just pitted with holes—there were broken and splintered shards of wood sticking out all over the place, mostly above the bed. Along the outer walls, there were places where the sun shone through.

"They're a real mess," Esther mused. "What are you planning on doing?"

"We reckon we could just fill most of 'em, then paint the holes black and pretend they're natural knots in the wood," Buck said.

Leah snorted. "Seriously?"

"Well…" Buck looked at Nathan. "Yeah. Kinda."

"It's a lot of work, Leah, replacing all those boards," Nathan explained.

"Ez won't care," Vin said, shrugging. "He'll be happy about the windows." Nathan nodded in agreement. Ezra didn't actually know that they were doing this—Buck had suggested it the morning after the gunfight, and they'd all just agreed, as if it weren't even a question that they'd repair the room for their friend. Didn't mean they had to make it _perfect_ though.

Leah's eyebrows had shot up at their responses, and then her gaze narrowed to a very focused stare, pinpointing each of the three men in the room one at a time.

"That's your story?" she asked. "You leave a job half-finished because you think Mr. Standish won't care?"

Buck cleared his throat. "Well…"

"I suppose he might care a little," Vin said, earning him a slap on the arm from Buck.

"It really would be a lot of work, Leah," Nathan tried again. "I mean, a _lot_ of work. And it's not like he asked us to…." He trailed off in light of her stark glare, and blinked a few times. "Um, what I mean to say is…." Her glare was quickly surpassing Chris Larabee's in sheer power.

"Your friend saved the lives of your sisters, Nathan," Leah snapped, "and nearly died protecting this town, _your_ home, and you're complaining about replacing a few boards?" She rested her hands on her hips. "There are three of you, how long could it take?"

"Um…." Buck began.

"Thing is…." Nathan tried.

"Probably not long," Vin conceded then, his shoulders drooping. Nathan and Buck stared at him like men betrayed. Vin smiled weakly. "What? It's just a few more hours, right?"

Leah gave a nod. "That's what I thought. You're replacing those boards, and you're doing it before he comes back here." She pointed at Nathan when he opened his mouth to object. "No buts, little brother!"

Nathan blinked, wondering where the timid woman from the first few days had gone. The way she was treating them all, including Buck and Vin, reminded him of how she used to command all of them when they were kids.

Buck cleared his throat, ducking his head. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'll go get some wood from Josiah's supply," Vin added.

"You're a good man, Mr. Tanner," Leah said then. Vin smiled shyly, and Buck hit him in the arm again. Vin hit him back.

"I, uh, I could do the curtains while you're working on this," Esther offered then, smiling at Vin and ducking her head prettily. "If you don't mind." She put her hands behind her back and rocked a little. "Maybe you could even show me which fabric to use."

Vin blushed, smiling even more shyly, and Buck eyes narrowed. Leah arched an eyebrow at Nathan, and then snagged her sister's arm.

"One at a time, Esther," she warned. "As for the rest of you," she gestured to the trays. "Mind you take those back down to Ms. Recillos when you're done." She pointed at all of them again, and then wheeled Esther out of the room. Esther waved at both Buck and Vin as she left.

Nathan blew the air out of his cheeks, and then turned to glare at Vin. Buck was also staring at him, eyes narrowed.

"What?" Vin demanded.

"Probably not long," Buck repeated in imitation, lifting his voice slightly.

"Just a few more hours," Nathan added, also lifting his voice.

"Oh come on," Vin defended, lifting his hands into a shrug. "I can't lie to a woman, you know that. Nettie'd have my hide."

Buck shoved a hammer at Vin. "Just set the window, mama's boy."

Nathan huffed a laugh.

* * *

Ezra was warm, comfortable, even thought he felt a little damp, as if he were sleeping outside and covered in dew. He didn't want to wake up, but something was tugging at his consciousness, telling him it was time.

His fingers curled, and he felt the starched sheets, knowing immediately that they weren't his. The faint smell of burnt herbs and fresh hay touched his nose, and he guessed he was in Nathan's clinic over the livery. That meant he had to have been pretty bad off. Most of the time, he was allowed to stay in his own bed, but he must have gotten sick enough that Nathan wanted him here. He hadn't remembered getting sick, though. So why….?

Oh. Right. He'd been shot. But he wasn't dead, which was a good sign. They must have made it through another day.

Vague memories of seeing Chris and the others hovering over him filtered through his mind, but nothing was really sticking. Still, he didn't have that usual sense of urgency that meant he was waking up for the first time, needing to know the others were all still alive, still with him. He felt calm.

He blinked slowly, his vision clearing enough to see Josiah sitting on a chair by the window, one leg propped on a stool. He was bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a little like a halo, and reading a book.

Somewhere along the way, he'd become used to the fact that, when he was hurt, Josiah was often the one sitting with him when he woke. Part of him was terrified by the notion that he was coming to rely on it, to gain comfort from the older man's presence. It was something he really hadn't wanted, precisely because, if he ever lost it, he knew how much it would hurt. The other part of him….wanted Josiah to be there always.

He sighed softly, and Josiah looked up. The preacher smiled, placing the book down.

"How are you feeling?"

Ezra blinked again, and tried to shrug. The fact that he was lying on his side made it sort of difficult, but he couldn't be bothered to turn over onto his back. So, he tried to grunt noncommittally.

Josiah smiled crookedly. "Yeah, that's about right." He tilted his head. "You remember what happened?"

Ezra blinked, and frowned slightly. Then he gave a nod. "Shot." His voice was scratchy, and his throat burned a little at the use.

"Well, you answered that more quickly than last time, which is a good sign."

Ezra scowled slightly at what he took to be an insult to what he prided himself on--having a very quick mind.

Josiah raised his hands in a warding gesture. "Hey, I'm sure you'll get quicker. Or at least, to where you were before." He smirked slightly.

Ezra rolled his eyes, and recalled the other thing he wanted to check on, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer if Josiah was ribbing him. "The others?"

Josiah smiled warmly. "Everyone is well. You're the only one who was hurt badly." He tilted his head. "Been folks asking after you at the saloon—it really is more subdued when you're not there."

Ezra smiled at that, and then glanced at the book on Josiah's lap. It looked familiar. "What's…?"

"Oh, right. It's yours. 'The Mill on the Floss.' I picked it up from your nightstand. It's…." Josiah's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Sad. This young man is a good writer."

Ezra smiled at that. It wasn't too often he was one up on Josiah. "Not a man."

"What?"

"George…a woman."

Josiah frowned, read the name on the front, and then nodded. "Oh, right. Mary did an article on her novels for the paper."

Ezra smiled again, and pointed to the water on the desk. His throat was on fire now. "Can I bother you for…?"

Josiah frowned. "Of course. I should have offered before." He grabbed a cane and pushed himself up, hobbling over to the table. Ezra watched him go, frowning at the obvious limp.

"You're hurt," he noted.

"Scratch. It'll heal."

"Sorry."

"Should be," Josiah said, pouring the water into a glass. "I got shot trying to get over to the saloon to check on you, and you didn't even have the decency to be there when I arrived."

Ezra's eyes widened at that. "You did?"

Josiah put the pitcher down and, when he turned to look at Ezra, he tapped his chin. "Indeed. I'm thinking some recompense might be in order for my brave and selfless act….A fully paid for steak dinner at the hotel, for example?"

Ezra frowned. "You're not serious."

Josiah hobbled back, settled down on his chair, and then handed Ezra the water. "Certainly, I am. You owe me, son."

Ezra pushed himself up to more of a sitting position. "I don't see how that equates," he said, taking a sip of the water, and reveling with how much it soothed. He sat up a little more, leaning his back against the headboard. "I mean…." He took another sip. "It's not as if I knew you would recklessly try to come to my aid when I never asked for it."

"You didn't have to. It was implied."

"Implied?" Ezra retorted, sitting up more, and sloshing the water a little out of the cup onto the bed. "I'll have you know, Josiah, that I didn't need your help, and, frankly, assuming that I would pay for it afterwards—"

"Well, he seems better," a new voice called from the doorway. Ezra paused, eyes widening slightly, and turned his head to face the door. Rachel Jackson leaned against the door frame, evening light silhouetting her, a smirk on her face. She had a bag over her shoulder. "Looks like death's door has been averted after all, if you can argue with the man who hasn't left your side for three solid days."

Ezra blinked again, and looked at Josiah.

The preacher man was smiling lightly, watching him with amusement. And then he shrugged.

"I've learned, son, that nothing brings you back to health faster than a threat to your purse-strings." He tapped his own skull. "Got that mind of yours moving quick again, didn't I?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed. He was torn between gratitude and annoyance—not that that was any different from how he usually felt when dealing with his six compatriots.

"You can thank me with that steak dinner later," Josiah said cheerfully, standing up again and tossing the book onto Ezra's lap. He limped over to the edge of the bed and, for a moment, Ezra thought he was going to bend down to kiss his head. Instead, the preacher's face softened and he just touched the top of Ezra's head lightly. "Keep on getting better, my boy. We need you well."

Ezra's lips parted slightly, not sure what to say to that as Josiah grabbed his cane and started limping away.

"Wait," Ezra called. "You're leaving?"

"I'm going to let this lovely young lady watch over you for a while. I'm getting stiff sitting around, and I get the feeling, based on some of the conversations I heard coming in through the open door," he gestured towards the front of the clinic, "that certain people may be pillaging wood from my church."

Rachel smirked. "I heard that too."

Ezra tried not to frown as Josiah reached the door. "You'll, um…?" He didn't finish the sentence out loud. Josiah turned in the doorway and smiled at him.

"Of course. I'll be back in a few hours. How do you put it? I've gotta protect my investment." He grinned, all white teeth, and then left, laughing at his own joke.

Ezra arched an eyebrow at him, and leaned back heavily into the headboard.

Rachel hummed to herself and shut the door behind her. Then she pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it to the table. Ezra watched curiously as she pulled two tumblers out of the bag and put them on the table.

And then she pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet.

His lips parted.

"Your friend Inez informs me that she stocks this just for you," Rachel said, opening the bottle and pouring out two glasses. "So it seemed appropriate."

Ezra's eyebrows lifted, and he sat up more as she carried the glasses over and, after plucking the water from his hand, handed him one.

"Appropriate for what?" he asked.

"Well," Rachel sat down on the chair Josiah had just vacated, "seeing as you are hurt, I thought I could offer you some sympathy."

Ezra's lips quirked into a smile. "Sympathy?" he repeated. He tilted his head. "And what would your sympathy get me?" he asked, deliberately repeating her question from several days ago.

She shrugged. "A drink," she answered, indicating the glass in his hand. And then she smiled. "A friend."

"A friend," Ezra said, grinning.

She gave a nod, and lifted her glass to clink against hers. "A friend," she promised. Then she winked. "Mind you don't screw it up, gambling man."

Ezra laughed.

* * *

Nathan leaned against the banister next to Leah, watching her as she watched Esther walk arm in arm with Buck down the boardwalk to the hotel, snuggled up against his side. Leah's expression was thoughtful, but not unhappy. They could hear Esther giggling at Buck's jokes as they disappeared from view into the restaurant.

"So you're fine with that?" Nathan asked curiously, tilting his head towards the couple. "Because I can go talk to Buck."

"I already told him I didn't mind," Leah replied, still watching the restaurant. She shrugged. "I might even have encouraged it."

Nathan's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"I learned quite a lot about you little town in the last few days, Nathan, especially about your friend Buck." She shook her head. "He truly is a Casanova. He feels everything very deeply, loves with all his heart, and," she shrugged, "needs a woman to love him in return."

Nathan just smiled softly.

"After what happened with Miss Eliot, I thought Esther could do him some good." She pursed her lips, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Although…"

"Although?"

"I'm wondering if I should have warned him that Esther…" She twisted her lips slightly. "She can be a little high strung." She gave Nathan a sidelong glance. "She likes to be in charge."

Nathan laughed, and shook his head. "Family trait," he offered. "At least on the female side."

Leah arched an eyebrow, and turned her attention back to the town. Chris took that moment to appear outside the saloon, lighting up a cheroot as he did so. He stood on the boardwalk a moment, and then stepped off, heading generally in the direction of the livery.

"I learned quite a lot about him as well," she said, her tone contemplative.

"Chris?" Nathan tilted his head, surprised. "I didn't think you'd talked to him much."

"I didn't," Leah replied. "But I didn't need to. He said a great deal without really ever speaking a word."

Nathan snorted. "That's Chris."

Leah hummed. And then she turned, so that she was facing him straight on, her expression intent.

"I spoke with Rachel and Esther before coming up here to see you. Since Esther's feeling so much better, thanks to her clever big brother, we thought we'd head back to Santa Fe in a few days."

Nathan's expression fell. "So soon?"

Leah shrugged. "We think it's best. This town…." She smiled then. "It's a wonderful town, Nathan, but it's a little…." She blushed. "Much…for us."

Nathan frowned. "You know that gunfight last week…It's not always like that."

She arched an eyebrow. And Nathan grimaced.

"Well," he amended, "it's not like that very often."

She nodded, and then smiled warmly. "It's not just that, Nathan. It's the size. We…," she shrugged, "we like the city. That's home to us. The crowds of people, the bustle of activity, the way everything always seems to be moving…." She trailed off, and then shrugged. "And I think it's an easier place for us to find work. In fact…." She smiled again, "your Mary Travis did us something of a good turn. She sent me a telegram from Santa Fe about some opportunities there that I asked her to look into. I think she found positions all three of us can take up, and with your Judge Travis's recommendation, we're pretty likely to win them."

Nathan perked up, unable to hide his excitement. "Santa Fe? But that's not far at all! Just a few days ride."

She nodded. "It means we can visit more often."

Nathan's smile faded, and he looked down at the banister he was gripping. "Yeah, about that…you won't need to."

Leah's gaze narrowed, and she nodded. "So what Esther said is true. You plan on leaving with us when we go?"

Nathan gave a nod.

"Well, I'm sorry," she said, crossing her arms. "But I won't allow it."

Surprised, Nathan's eyebrows lifted. "What?"

"I'm not letting you leave this place. It would be wrong."

Nathan's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted me to go with you."

Leah grimaced, and she nodded, looking away. "I did. Because I was afraid for you." She looked at him again. "But that's not why _you_ want to come with us, is it?"

He bit his lip, and Leah's eyes narrowed.

"You want to come with us because you think we need you," she stated. "Is that right? To protect us? Provide for us? Is that the idea? That's why you stayed in the clinic with us when your friends needed you?"

He shrugged again. "I just think, if I'd been around, if I'd not run away after the war, or if I'd tried harder to find you, to get to you sooner, maybe some of the things that happened to you wouldn't have happened."

Leah snorted, and shook her head "Honestly, little brother, that is the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Nathan frowned.

"We don't need you, Nathan," Leah said then. "We love you, but we don't need you. We never have. We made our own choices to stay in Nashville as long as we did. We had the opportunity to leave, but we didn't. That was my mistake. I should've picked up Rachel and Esther and moved them out here long, long ago, before Esther got sick or Rachel got arrested."

Nathan blinked. "Rachel got arrested?"

Leah waved her hand. "Long story."

"I—"

She smiled wryly. "When you come visit us in Santa Fe, I'll tell you all about it."

Nathan snorted, and frowned anew. "I still want to go with you."

Leah sighed, and she took his hand. "This is because of how I reacted after Mary Travis's paper blew up?"

He grimaced, but gave a reluctant nod. "You were so scared, so sure that the people here would turn on me, and I started thinking that you might be right."

"I wasn't."

"But—"

"I didn't know then what I know now, Nathan." She looked into the town, which was darkening with the advent of night. "I'd been here less than a day, and someone tried to kill one of your people with dynamite! That doesn't happen in Nashville, little brother. Hell, I'm not sure it happens anywhere."

"Yeah, but—"

"And, at that point, I hadn't met Mr. Larabee yet."

Nathan straightened a little, confused. "Chris?"

She smiled softly. "I should have listened to you that morning, when you told us why Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner saved you from being lynched, before this whole thing started. You told us…." She tilted her head. "You told me that they were honorable men."

"They are."

"I know," she agreed, smiling lightly. "But it was more the way you said it. I should have paid more attention to the pride in your voice. I should have known then what you were really trying to say about them. But it wasn't until I watched him that night after the gunfight, saw the way he acted, that I truly began to see."

Nathan frowned. "See what?"

"The night after the gunfight, he nearly worried a rut in the street worrying about all of you, pacing up and down, checking to make sure you weren't running yourself into the ground, asking after Ezra every half n' hour like clockwork, moving in and out of that church and the hotel like a ghost, monitoring all of you."

"Yeah, but—"

"And after I saw it in him, I saw it in the rest. The way Vin Tanner reacted to Buck Wilmington in the church, furious that he would wish himself harm over having hurt the girl who had tried to kill him. The way Josiah stayed up for three nights watching over Ezra, desperate for him to wake. The way your youngest, JD, couldn't sit still until he saw Buck smile again. And, of course, the way Ezra risked everything to get Rachel back to us, to make sure we were safe, even though he must have known how badly hurt he was."

Nathan shook his head. He still didn't understand—that was how they always were. "I still don't know what you're trying to say," he said.

Leah smiled. "That you're a _family_, Nathan. You and these six others. It's as plain as day. You watch over each other, get exasperated with each other, worry about each other, and are proud of each other." She touched her hand to her chest, her eyes shining. "Which is why I'm not afraid for you anymore. So long as Chris Larabee and your other friends are here, I know they will be there for you." She reached out and touched his chest. "And it's also why I could never allow you to leave them. I will not be the reason you leave your family."

Nathan's brow was furrowed deeply now. "Leah…."

"You have obligations and responsibilities here, Nathan. You have people who need you. And you need to be where you are needed." She tilted her head. "It's where you belong."

Nathan stared at her, seeing the pride she felt for him, and remembering seeing the same pride on his father's face.

"And you don't need me," he said in understanding.

"We really, really don't," she agreed, still smiling.

He bit his lip. "I wish you could stay," he whispered.

"We'll be back to visit as often as we can."

He closed his eyes.

A moment later, he felt her wrap her arms around him, and he shifted so he could hug her back.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Just say you'll come visit us as well."

"All the time."

She hugged him even tighter.

* * *

A few weeks later, Nathan looked up as Mary walked into the saloon, the newspaper owner holding her shawl tightly across her shoulders. Spotting Buck, Ezra and Nathan at the table eating breakfast, she smiled and wandered over. She was carrying two envelopes.

"Gentlemen," she greeted. As she reached the table, Nathan noticed she had black smudges on her face.

"Still fighting with the new press?" Buck asked, pointed up at her with his knife.

She gave a shrug. "It and I have had a few disagreements," she admitted. "This morning, it decided to line all my papers with streaks, so the word 'Clarion' became 'Clarioo'."

Buck laughed, and Nathan grinned.

"But that's not why I'm here," she said. "These got mixed in with my mail." She handed the first envelope to Ezra.

"From Maude?" Buck queried between bites. Ezra tilted his head, studying the envelope, and then he smiled happily.

"Nope," he said airily, tucking it into his inside jacket. "From a friend."

Buck's eyebrows lifted. "I didn't think you had any." He shrugged. "Besides us I mean."

"And you'd be wrong," Ezra replied, smirking. "Not that that's unusual for you. And what makes you think I think of you as friend?" He pretended to consider the idea. "Acquaintance, maybe." He shrugged. "Or perhaps just 'someone I know'."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Keep it up, hoss, and this 'someone you know' won't be taking your patrol this afternoon."

Mary cleared her throat. "And this one is for Nathan," she said, handing Nathan the other envelope, and then she smiled. "Made out to Nathan T. Jackson."

Nathan grinned broadly, grabbing from her and ripping it open. It took only a moment to confirm it was from Leah. He looked up.

"Thanks, Mary."

"My pleasure," she said, patting his shoulder warmly. "When you write her back, tell her I said hello." Nathan nodded, and returned his attention to the letter as Mary took her leave.

"Read it out loud," Buck pushed, nudging Nathan's arm. "I'd love to know how the lovely Esther is doing. Is she pining for me yet?"

"The only one pining is you, Buck," Ezra said, grinning. "I haven't seen you that heartbroken since the lovely Louisa left us."

Buck stuck his tongue out at him, and then looked again at Nathan. "So? You gonna tell us what it says?"

Nathan looked at them both, then down at the letter. And then he smiled.

And started reading the letter from his sisters to his family.

* * *

The End

Thank you so, so much for reading and for all your feedback! It means so much, I can't even tell you!


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